


Life of an Adder Squadron (FFxivWrite2020 challenge)

by Caranraw Greyhame (Atrus)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Background WoL/Hien romance, Drabbles, FFxivWrite2020, Gen, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Twin Adder Squadron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atrus/pseuds/Caranraw%20Greyhame
Summary: My entries for #FFxivWrite2020. As an extra challenge, I'm trying to make them all about my Twin Adder squadron and its various members.
Kudos: 4
Collections: #FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. 2 - Sway

“Kelmomo!”

Teulzacq pulled Nunulupa away, the Lalafell struggling to escape from the Duskwight’s arms even as the double-bladed axe bit the floor where he was standing just a moment before.

“It’s no use,” Teulzacq cried, “she’s under the wizard’s sway! She can’t hear you!”

The thaumaturge knew he was right, but still he kicked and screamed as they retreated, the image of the vacant eyes of his companion burning in his brain.

“We have to get to the top of the tower before the wizard completes his summoning. That leaves us less than a bell.”

“And we have to rescue Kelmomo, don’t forget that!”

Cecily sighed. “No one’s forgetting that, Nunu. Defeating the wizard is our only way of getting her back.”

The lalafell looked crestfallen. “Can’t you do a counterspell or something?”

Cecily shook her head. “Not while the geas is tethered to that crystal shard he was holding. Perhaps if either of them were unconscious…”

“We have more pressing matters,” Teulzacq said, “there are several floors between us and the summoning chamber, crawling with all sorts of sprites and creatures. It’s not going to be easy to get through that without our marauder to open the way.”

Cecily brought a hand to her mouth, thinking. “Shall we call the others for support?”

“No, they would not get here in time.”

“Then perhaps-”

“I will take point.” 

Cecily and Teulzacq turned to Nunulupa, gasping.

“Come on, Nunu, we want to save her as much as you do, but those monsters will make mincemeat of you if they swarm on you.”

The thaumaturge grinned, a glint in his eye. “Then I won’t give them the chance.”

Fire sprites collided with water minions. Lighting sprites grounded themselves against golems. 

Nunu’s strategy was simple, risky, and surprisingly effective. With strategic shots, the mage caught the creatures’ attentions and pitted them against others of opposite aetheric polarity, weakening them enough for the pugilist and the conjurer to take them down.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing - in their haste, sometimes he pulled more than they could easily dispatch, and they had the burn marks on their clothes to prove their recklessness - but eventually, finally, they made it to the top floor with minutes to spare.

They peeked into the summoning chamber, hidden behind a large pillar. The wizard was there, surrounded by a large aetheric barrier, channeling aether into a large crystal in the middle of the circular room. In his hand was the same large shard he had used to ensnare their friend, glowing with the same purple color. 

Kelmomo, eyes still vacant, surveyed the rest of the chamber and various piles of crystals, set at regular intervals against the walls.

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Teulzacq whispered in return, “‘Uh oh’ is bad. ‘Uh oh’ means you’re going to tell me that things are worse than we thought they were.”

Cecily nodded. “In this case, ‘uh oh’ means that this doesn’t look like your regular beast summoning, or waking the dead, or other regular evil wizard stuff. This is more like-”

“-a primal,” Nunulupa finished for her, hissing. “But why would he summon Ramuh? Unless… Damnation and damnations! Ever since news of Shiva trickled back to the Shroud, everyone and their mother is attempting to turn themselves into a demigod.” He brought his fist to his lips and closed his eyes, gathering strength. “From what the boss has said, once the primal is inside them, only death will release them from it. So if we want to bring him in alive, we have to stop him before he completes the spell. Everyone in position!”

Teulzacq hesitated, grasping his comrade’s shoulder to stop him from charging in. “Nunu… are you sure you can do it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Only, everyone knows that you care for her. I can be the one to-”

“No,” Nunu cut him short, “We stick to the plan.”

“Wooly Toad! Stop this madness now!”

The wizard turned in a flurry of robes. “I have told you gnats before,” he bellowed, “my name is Anuran the Magnificent! Wooly Toad died when- huh.“ 

He looked from the Hyur to the Elezen, narrowing his eyes. “Wasn’t there another one of you? Did the little one escape after I turned your friend? Well, no matter. Puppet, take care of them while I finish up here!”

Anuran snapped his fingers and Kelmomo dashed against her former comrades, axe held high. 

The two kept her engaged, swift punches on one side, earth and wind magic on the other, but they were clearly pulling their punches and she had superior technique against more enemies. 

Soon enough she had driven them to the edge of the room. Her axe collided with a bunch of crystals, scattering them in the air.

“Careul, you little wretch!” Anuran growled, “I didn’t collect all those crystals just for you to turn them into shards!”

“Don’t worry,” Nunulupa’s voice said from the shadows of the pillar, “they’re gonna be very well preserved!”

Teulzacq and Cecily jumped to the side right as a blizzard slammed into Kelmomo. 

The sturdy marauder fought back against the snowstorm, swinging her axe to clear it from the frost forming at its edges, but Nunulupa kept pouring aether into the spell. Slowly, ice started forming around her feet, at her brow, on her arms.

“You fools!” the wizard laughed, “sacrificing your friend won’t help you! The preparations are almost complete, and my barrier is impenetrable!” 

“Not quite,” Nunulupa grinned, slowly advancing on Kelmomo, his steps heavy with fatigue, “You gave us an opening yourself.”

He closed his eyes, silently apologizing to his friend in advance. “Kelmomo is still connected to your shard by your spell,” he said out loud, raising his staff, “and as everybody knows, ice cancels out lightning.”

The ice spell hit Kelmomo in the chest, sending her flying against the wall. She hit her head hard and slumped to the floor, almost at the same time as Nunulupa, all his energies spent in the casting.

As the mind control spell snapped, the excess aether spun its way back to the source and the wizard cried in pain, the shard in his hands suddenly as cold as the depths of Coerthas. 

Anuran lost his concentration only for a moment, but a moment was enough for Cecily and Teulzacq to cross through the faltering barrier. 

The Elezen closed his fists. “Please stay still, or this will hurt a lot more.”

A week passed. Wooly Toad had been stripped of his delusions of grandeur and delivered to the Adder’s Nest, and his hoard of crystals had been scattered to the winds. 

Nunulupa had not seen personally to the latter part. He had been assigned other duties in the deepest parts of the Twelveswood, likely to keep his mind busy, and also to keep him away as possible from Kelmomo’s sickbed. 

But as news of her recovery had reached them, it took all of Hastaloeya’s persuasion skills to stop him from rushing back to Gridania ahead of the squadron. The Roegadyn could not stop him, however, from running straight to the infirmary the moment they had been debriefed - nor would he have wanted to.

“How is she? Can you do more healing? Is she going to wake up?”

Cecily gently nudged Nunulupa away from the sleeping shape of Kelmomo. “She will if you let me work. Ice burns are very painful, so we put her into a deep sleep until they were cured. We’re just now waking her up.”

The lalafell nodded, sniffling. “Do you think she will- I mean, I did-”

“She forgives you,” Kelmomo’s voice said, feebly. “You did what you had to do to stop the threat. Duty comes first.”

“You- you saw that? Were you-”

“I wasn’t wholly  _ there _ , no, but I have memories of what happened,” she sighed, trying to shift in her bed and wincing from the pain. Cecily and another attendant helped her sit straighter against her pillows. Once propped up, Kelmomo turned to Nunulupa once more, her face composed into her usual casual disinterest. “I suppose that whatever aetheric trick you did was very ingenious. Now let me sleep. As Cecily said, ice wounds really hurt.”

It was all Nunulupa could do not to cry, so he just nodded and turned. She was alive and well, and that was all that mattered.

He was almost through the door when Kelmomo’s voice called again: “Oh, and Nunulupa?”

“Y- yes?” he turned back, fretting. 

The briefest of smiles passed over her lips. “Thank you.”

The thaumaturge saluted and smiled back.


	2. 2 - Sway

“When I said to call the whole squadron to stand muster,” the Serpent Commander says, “this wasn’t exactly what I had pictured.”

I give him a feeble smile. “I suppose it’s my fault, but it just sort of… happened.”

The Commander narrows his eyes. The elezen have narrowed their disapproving stare down to an art, and he is no exception. “And how exactly,” he sighs, “does it ‘just happen’ that you enrolled a coeurl, a wolf, an otter, a walking catfish, a mammet, and… and… all the rest of these assorted creatures in your squadron?”

“Coeurl and wolf  _ cubs _ ,” Hastaloeya punctuates, as if Commander Vorsaile cares, “the big ones would be in the stable.”

The Commander seems about to blow a vein. “You have a full grown coeurl in the stable as well?!”

“Oh no, Captain Caranraw only has the one wolf, and it’s sort of a spirit so it doesn’t need stabling!” Nanasomi, the lalafell archer, replies chipperly. 

“That’s Captain  _ Greyhame  _ to you recruits,” the Commander crosses his arms, then turns his withering glare on me. “So I’m supposed to take that these are your creatures, Captain?”

“I believe the most accepted term is minions.” I was right. He does not care for corrections. “And they’re mostly their own creatures, but some of them need tending to, like the cubs. I can bring one or two with me on my travels, but I can’t well stuff the rest in my apartment and call it a day.”

It doesn’t seem like the otter will be able to stand at attention much longer, despite Cecily’s not-so-subtle nudging with her foot, and Kelmomo, our marauder, is also not-so-subtly starting to look at her fingernails as if they fared far more interesting than this conversation. “I don’t see the problem. Taking care of them is no greater effort than cleaning the stables or feeding the chocobos, and they do not hinder us on our missions.”

“Hells, the little wolf fella gnawed on a Garlean boot once! Didn’t even dent it, of course, but it’s the gesture that counts!” 

Gnawing Goat’s chuckle dies under the Commander’s glare.

“So,” Vorsaile says eventually, “you consider these creatures as part of your squadron, in the same capacity that our company chocobos are considered to be our fellow soldiers and companions.”

My squadron nods.

“Even if they cannot fight.”

They nod again.

“And even if there is a very high chance that most of them do not even understand what the Adder is, or a Squadron, nevermind a mission or an order and- is that mammet attempting to do  _ magic _ ?”

“Oh yes, that’s Gigi. Don’t worry, he doesn’t have enough charge to actually turn back time.”

Something seems to break in Vorsaile. For a short moment I even feel pity. “I suppose,” he shakes his head and sighs after a long moment, ”that I will have to ask Geva for a bunch of very small uniforms…”


	3. 5 - Matter of fact

“As a matter of fact-” Hastaloeya started.

They all groaned. 

When Gnawing Goat the conjurer had joined the team, his elaborate clothes, snobbish attitude, and penchant for getting lost into books, had brought the others to think that he would be the pedantic member of the party. Instead, they’d found that it was the  _ other _ Roegadyn who loved to correct everyone about anything. 

Sure, the gladiator had many other qualities: he was very skilled with his sword, all the children loved him, and he cut a  _ very _ fine figure - something that had not escaped the eyes of the ladies, nor those of their commanding officer Caranraw. 

True, it was expected that the squadron headed by the Warrior of Light would be somewhat eccentric, but even the captain often found that he had something else to do (possibly in some far-away country) when Hastal went on a tirade about the finer differences of hemp manufacturing between Ul'dah and Gridania. 

And as they learned, there were many differences. So many.

So, when Labonrit had returned to the barracks, saying that he’d just seen Gairhard’s squadron attend a Hingan-style tea party at Apkallu Falls, the others tensed in apprehension when their comrade uttered those fateful words, forebearers of long-winded speeches. 

“As a matter of fact,” Hastaloeya continued, apparently oblivious to his comrades’ countenance, “I think it was our Caranraw what crafted those nifty benches. I’ve seen him talking with Captain Gairhard and Guildmaster Beatin the other day, and he did just come back from Kugane with that Miqo’te carpenter, too.”

There was an odd stretch of silence as the others expected more to come, and it didn’t. 

“Wait, that’s it?” Kelmomo said, eventually, to the gladiator’s confusion.

“Uh… yes?”

“No obscure anecdotes about paper parasols in the far east?” Labonrit asked, “No historical notes on the consumption of tea in Kugane?”

“Uhm. No? I don’t really know much about the East,” the pale Roegadyn replied, befuddled, “Besides, don’t you people always say that you hate my monologues?”

“Ah…”

“Yes, I mean…”

“We do, but-”

“-they are sort of… always there,” Cecily blurted out, prompting Teulzacq to agree. 

“Aye. They are like the babbling of the brook or the roaring of the waterwheels: an incessant, loud background sound that, in time, becomes far more conspicuous for its absence than for its presence.”

Hastaloeya cocked his head. “I can never tell if that’s praise or insult.”

“Your mistake is assuming that it’s one or the other,” Kelmomo said, so deadpan that the others couldn’t but laugh.

“Well then,” Hastaloeya bumped his fists together, ”shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go to Apkallu Falls, of course!” he cheered, “I may not know much about Hingan tea parties, but I do know a lot about the history of Gridania… and lengthy discourse goes down much better with sweets and tea.”

“Now that,” Nunulupa jumped down excitedly from his bench, “is a speech I can get behind!”


	4. 7 - Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time I tell myself "this is gonna be a short drabble" I am inevitably proved wrong

“Pardon me, miss?”

Nanasomi stopped mid-stride and turned to the old Hyur who had addressed her. The man was all skin and bones, little more than thin parchment over a thin frame, and it seemed as if it took all of his strength just to rock back and forth on his chair.

“Yes, sir? How can I help?”

“You are one of them, whaddayacallthem- twin vipers?”

She tottered up the wooden stairs to his veranda and gave him a little bow. “Twin _Adder_ , but yes. Serpent Corporal Nanasomi at your service. If I may ask- are you not from around here, sir?”

“What gave it away?” The man crinkled his eyes and gave a little, shaky laugh, that soon turned into a coughing fit. She made to come and help, but he held a hand up to stop her.

“It’s just old age, little lady, nothing you can do about it. But yes, you could say I’m not from around here. I was born and raised in Gyr Abania, but we fled during the occupation.”

Nanasomi’s eyes lit up. “Gyr Abania? I’ve been there! Our squadron was deployed to the Lochs for the final push of the liberation.”

“The Lochs, eh? So you probably haven’t seen my hometown of Ala Ghiri.”

“Only in passing. I wish we could have stayed longer, but our boss needed us in Ala Mhigo.”

She casually omitted that her boss was the hero that felled Zenos and freed the nation. Somehow, she didn’t think the old man would find it very plausible. 

“Hmm. So you are familiar with the lay of the land, at least. So tell me,” he shifted in his chair, “is it true that you Adder folks help people?”

Nanasomi tilted her head. “Weeeell, yes, but mostly in the way that an army helps people. If you need to resolve a matter within Gridania, the Wood Wailers-”

“Arak.”

“Pardon?”

“Arak,” the old man repeated, “a Gyr Abanian spirit made from dates. I would like you to help me find a bottle, little one. I can make it worth your while.”

She took a deep breath. There were only so many _little one_ s she could take in a day, even though she doubted that the man meant any malice behind the words. 

Besides, this was starting to get intriguing. 

“Any particular reason why you can’t get it at the Shaded Bower, now that trade has reopened?”

“Your eyes must not be as sharp as that bow on your back would make one think,” the man wheezed a laugh, “I’m old, gal. Ninety-nine years, my grandson says. Most days it takes all I have to go from my bed to this chair and back. That’s one reason I’m still here and not back in Ala Ghiri. Besides, it’s not like there’s rivers of Arak flowing from the motherland to here. It takes time to make, and the damn Garleans drank most of our reserves.”

Nanasomi nodded in acknowledgment. “And the other reasons, if I may ask?”

“If you’ve really seen my country, perhaps you can tell me: is there anything to go back to? My home is certainly gone: if it still stands, someone else is likely to live there by now. Most of the people I knew are gone as well, either due to old age, a Garlean weapon, or conscripted somewhere. And I can’t certainly pick up my trade again. Not with these knees! And elbows, and, well,  _ everything _ .” He sighed, then turned his eyes to the house. “And of course, there’s my grandson. He was very little when we arrived here. I tried my best to teach him all I know of our culture, but he’s Gridanian through and through - or as Gridanian as these people will let him be, anyway. Has eyes on a girl from around here, too. He would not leave here to go live in a ruined country he’s never seen, and I would not leave without him.”

“I understand,” the small archer smiled, “I have not much family left myself, but I would not want to be so far away from them either.”

A bell tolled in the distance and she jumped back to her feet. “Cripes! I should have been back at the Adder’s Nest by now. I’ll see what I can do about your date spirits!”

She waved him goodbye as she scampered to the nearest Aetheryte, and as she turned, she missed a long fit of silent cough.

“Arak?” Caranraw furrowed his brows, “That’s a peculiar request.”

“This old man asked if he could have a bottle,” Nanasomi explained, waving her arms as way of punctuation, “I’ve asked around the marketplace, but no one seems to have heard of it!”

“No wonder. What little was made or salvaged by the refugees, probably never made it out of Little Ala Mhigo.” The Roegadyn captain crossed his arms, looking at her with curiosity. “And you would like me to go to Ala Ghiri and fetch a bottle for you, I imagine. It used to be that I was the one giving orders around here, but I see that someone else has stepped up to the plate during my time in the First.”

She blushed and lowered her head, hoping that the hat of her uniform would cover her face. “I mean- I didn’t want to presume that- It was just an idea-”

“As it happens,” Caranraw smiled, taking pity on her, “I helped a man in Ala Ghiri to find a steady supply of dates for his _spiriting_ enterprise. I believe I can convince him to part with a bottle of the old stuff, if I ask nicely. Maybe I can even ask if he remembers this man and his family. What was his name again?”

Nanasomi brought a hand to her lips. “You know, with one thing and another, I forgot to ask.”

The next day she was back at the veranda. The old man seemed to be waiting for her, or maybe it was just his way to stare at the road and the passersby all day long.

“Good morning, sir! I may have found a bottle of your spirits, straight from Ala Ghiri no less! But I’d like to know-”

“Shhh! Lower your voice!” The man turned left and right, as if expecting someone to jump out of the bushes, “My son would blow a gasket if he knew I’d asked for some liqueur. Says it’s bad for my liver. So what if it is? What am I gonna do, die of old age? I’m most of the way there already!” 

She stifled a laugh. “Alright, it will be our little secret. So, is your son here with you as well? Did any more family come here with you?”

She realized her mistake as soon as the words had come out. The man was staring at her, mouth agape, his eyes glassy and distant. “My son. They look so much alike. Sometimes I forget…” His head drooped. “My children never made it out of the country. My son was conscripted to work in the mines. My daughter gave her life so I could escape with her child. They should have lived. Not me. Not me.”

They remained silent for a while, the archer and the old man. Eventually he sighed and said, “I’d like to be alone now.”

Nanasomi bowed and left.

“You still don’t know his name?”

“I made a faux pas, alright?!” she huffed at Gnawing Goat. He wasn’t her usual confidante, but Hastaloeya was out on a mission with Labonrit and Nunulupa. “I stirred up some painful memories, and he wanted me to leave. Now I’m not sure if I should go back at all, even if I find his thrice damned spirits.”

The Roegadyn healer smiled. “I can only make a conjecture, but I think he would be sad if you didn’t return. And perhaps the bottle is not so important after all.”

Duty called her elsewhere for a while, so it was well over a week before she returned to the old man’s house. He didn’t find him on his chair, though, but someone else was waiting for her: a Hyur man in his twenties, a worried expression in his eyes.

“You’re the Twin Adder lass that visits my father, right? I was waiting for you.”

“Is anything wrong?” Nanasomi’s heart skipped a beat, “Is he-?”

“Just a bad cough, but he’ll have to lay still for a while. He had a message for you, though. Says you’ll find your payment at the Quiver’s Hold.” The young man shrugged. “I’m not sure why there. Probably got it mixed up with the Adder’s Nest. For all the time he lived in Gridania, it’s like he doesn’t even know the place, at times.”

A voice called in from inside the house. 

“Sorry, I have to go now, but it was nice meeting you.”

“Wait! I just-” She extended her hand as the door closed, too late to stop him. “I just wanted to know his name…”

“Captain Nanasomi, I return from your mission!”

Captain Greyhame gave her a formal Adder salute and bowed deeply, presenting her with a dark brown bottle. With half of the Adder’s Nest turning to look at the two of them, Nanasomi was sure that she was going to die there and then. 

“C-captain Caranraw! Please!” she fidgeted on the spot, “Not here in public!”

He smirked. “So you want me to call you Captain in private?”

She shook her fists and grumbled. “I swear, sometimes I wonder why I’m still enrolled in your squadron!”

“Because I’m low maintenance and sometimes I fetch things for you.” He tossed her the bottle and she picked it in mid air, yelping. “Come on now, go make your old man happy! Tell him it’s with the compliments of Weidheri.”

“Weidheri? Sabra’s son? He’s still around? Good to know someone made it alive and well out of that mess!” The old man opened the bottle surreptitiously - well, as much as a nonagenarian could - and sniffed its contents. “More than well, I’d say! If the smell is anything to go by, this is the really good stuff. Your friend must have done him a remarkable favor.”

Or paid him a lot of gil too, she thought. Not that the Captain would ever mention anything about a price tag. 

“Now,” he sighed, “if you would get some cups from the house, it’s time we had a proper toast to my old age. Three cups, now there’s a good lass.”

“Three?” she frowned, “I didn’t think your grandson would be joining us. Bad for the liver and all that.”

“Not my grandson,” the old man sighed again, “My children. A cup for the dead.”

She returned soon from the small kitchen, and she helped him fill the cups in silence. They drank in silence too, letting the memories fill in the gaps. 

The liqueur tasted of dates and fire.

She was sad but not surprised when she heard he had passed away a few months later. The cough had gotten worse and, ironically enough and to his grandson’s dismay, the chirurgeon was perfectly fine with the old man drinking a thimble of Arak or two as a cordial after his meals. 

Likely nothing more than a kind gesture to a dying man, but still. 

She had completely forgotten about the reward until a woman from the Archer’s Guild tracked her down at the barracks, a long bundle wrapped in burlap in her hands. “There you are! Do you know how many young lalafell archers there are in the Yellow Serpents? It took forever to find you!”

She set the parcel in her lap and gave a curt bow. “Ayberk made us repair it and fit it for you. I would treasure it, if I were you. We don’t see much of that craft around here.”

Ayberk. So odd that she only learned his name now, after he had died. 

To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if she had told him her name either. 

The woman from the Quiver’s Hold was still staring at her, so she quickly unwrapped the bundle and looked at its contents. It was a beautiful black willow bow, shiny and oiled to perfection, looking not a day older than the moment it was crafted. “This is…”

“His old shortbow. He was a hunter, back in his days. He used to sell game to merchants from Eorzea before he was forced to flee with his family. Or at least that’s what he told me.” She took stock of the weapon and its new owner, and nodded. “It’s going to be a greatbow for you, but he seemed confident that you would make good use of it. Do not disappoint him.”

Nanasomi held back her tears. “I won’t.”

Days later, Captain Greyhame asked her to join him on a mission. 

She was surprised - although later she didn’t see why - when the road brought them to Ala Ghiri. More precisely, to the cemetery behind the town. 

There was a new grave, recently dug, and the gravestone above it only had three words on it: _‘Ayberk - Hunter. Grandfather’_.

“His grandson wanted to have him buried in his homeland. I chipped in.”

She snorted.

“Alright, I covered the costs. Same difference.”

He produced a familiar bottle from his bag and handed it to her. “A cup for the dead?”

She nodded and uncorked the bottle. “A cup for the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stealth edit? What stealth edit?


	5. 8 - Clamor

The people of Gridania erupted into a great cheer when the first firework blew a thousand stars into the air. 

Of course there would be many more to come, as the celebration was slated to go on for a fortnight, but the first one was special. Everyone knew that. 

The first was a reminder that a moon had crashed on their star, hatched a vengeful dragon god, wrecked the lay of the land and upended all of their lives - and they had survived. Not just survived, but they had grown stronger. 

“Of course the actual first firework is fired in Kugane, or whatever land east of that where they celebrate the Rising,” Hastaloeya felt it necessary to say, “but I doubt anyone cares. The one that matters is the first one  _ you  _ see.”

The full squadron roster had assembled together for the celebration, although not in any official capacity. They were all sitting atop one of the rock outcrops that overlooked Old Gridania, their legs dangling from the ledge.

Teulzacq cocked his head and frowned, trying to puzzle that out and failing. “I don’t get it. Why does Kugane go first? Those eastern folks weren’t even at Cartenau!”

“Oh, oh, I know this one!” Cecily actually raised her hand as if they were in school, and Kelmomo made a very poignant display of  _ not  _ rolling her eyes. “It’s because it gets darker earlier in Kugane, right? And the fireworks start at first dark.”

“Well, can’t they just wait for us and fire them all together?”

Hastaloeya shook his head, smirking. “They’d have to wait until the middle of the night! Kugane’s sunset is several bells ahead of ours.”

“But… why?” The pugilist didn’t seem any less convinced. 

Labonrit sighed and shook his head. “Because of the rotation of the heavens? Don’t they teach you anything in those caves you came from? I hope you know at the very least that our star is  _ round _ .”

Teulzacq punched the arcanist in the arm, though without any real strength behind it. The two Elezen, Duskwight and Wildwood, had butted heads many times about their different heritage in the beginning, but any bickering between them was now mostly for show. “What? You mean to say we don’t live on a flat disc, perennially at risk of running over the edge? Next you’ll tell me our star is not soaring through the heavens on the back of a giant goobbue!”

“No, no,” Labonrit cried, feigning dismay, “that just won’t do! We’ll have to give you a proper primer in astronomy and the heavens at the first opportunity-”

The sky above them crackled and blossomed with lights of every shape and color, giant flowers and sparklers blossoming in the night. After a momentous pause, a gigantic, crimson rendition of the Comet burned high in the heavens, resting behind their eyes as an afterimage for several seconds. 

And then, just like that, the Comet vanished and more fireworks peppered the skies.

“I think,” Hastaloeya said, patting his friend on the back, “that the lesson can wait until tomorrow.”

The eight of them laid on their backs and watched the ephemeral stars for a long time.


	6. 9 - Lush

Labonrit had always loved the Twelveswood. Ever since he was a child he been enamored with the lush, verdant vegetation of the Shroud, the groves of elm and maple, yew and oak, ash and rosewood. 

His father taught him to distinguish true Gridanian chestnuts from horse chestnuts, his mother showed him what herbs were nourishing and which were poisonous. 

He knew the woods. Lived the woods.  _ Breathed _ the woods. 

Gnawing Goat… didn't. 

The Roegadyn conjurer, newest recruit of their squadron, hailed from Eastern La Noscea and was far more at ease with sand and sea than bushes and branches - as was clear when he tripped on yet another root and almost ruined to the ground. 

"How," the Elezen sighed, "does anyone fail so completely at something so simple as  _ walking _ ?" 

"Well, excuse me if I can't predict where these darned things will turn up," the Roegadyn grumbled in return, "I swear, it's like they move to get under my feet." 

"Perhaps you did something to annoy the elementals. Be content they are not just making you disappear." 

Gnawing narrowed his eyes, wondering if his comrade was serious. "I had heard about the woodwrath, but I thought it was just a tale to scare potential invaders." 

Labonrit smirked. "If it were the woodwrath, you'd be dead and gone. At most, this is a woodprank." 

"Hah!" the Roegadyn's laugh boomed in the forest, scaring a few birds away from their branch, "hazing the newcomer, are we? I see how it is! Well, if that's the price to pay for serving in Gridania, I'll suffer a few roots and loose rocks." 

"Why did you even come to enlist so far from home? Why not the Maelstrom?" the Elezen asked, guiding Gnawing through a hidden path in the brambles. 

"Well, you know. Pretty much the same reason we're all here, I guess." 

Labonrit nodded. Some of them were already part of a grand company, some were brand new and fresh faced, but all had enrolled for the same reason: a chance to fight alongside the Warrior of Light. 

None of them knew why they, in particular, had been chosen over other recruits, although Cecily and Nanasomi laughed at the question and said they were the only ones who volunteered to serve under a newly promoted lieutenant, not yet renowned all over the continent. 

The usual counter was that they had never been reassigned or replaced either. Apparently Caranraw Greyhame was loyal to a fault even when it came to his underlings. 

After Gnawing Goat stumbled on yet another snag - this time a bundle of knotted grass - Labonrit sighed and pressed his forehead lightly to an oak. "The boss seems to think he has a chance," he whispered to whatever elementals may be listening, "so try not to be too hard on him, alright? Please?" 

The Roegadyn tottered at his side, his eyes fixed on his feet. "Hey, is everything good? Do we have to pray to the woods or something?" 

Labonrit smiled and shook his head. "Nah, I was just resting a moment. Come on, let's finish up this patrol." 

Gnawing Goat followed, and at least for that day, there were no more roots under his feet. 


	7. 10 - Avail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late entry, you might want to read it before prompt #25

An invisible bell tinkled in Shebrona’s hut, and the woman sighed. “There we go again,” she told herself, rising slowly from her wicker chair, all her bones and joints popping and cracking from old age.

Slowly, for first the warning spell was set far ahead along the path, she wore her long cloak and her wading boots, and grabbed her bog-cane from the Amdapori vase she was using as an improvised umbrella stand. 

After crossing the short bridge that connected her islet to the rest of the swamp, she thrust the cane hard in front of her, checking for treacherous ground. Oh, she knew the safe path by heart by now, but it never failed to be cautious.

After a good half hour’s walk, she finally reached the rickety wooden square that some people called ‘the dock’, clearly having no knowledge of the area: while some swamps could indeed be navigated, although with caution, her stretch of bog was too shallow and thick with underwater vines and roots, and any boat attempting to traverse it would soon get stuck.

She liked it just that way, so she never corrected the adventurers’ wrong assumptions. 

A few minutes later, the second locator spell caught her attention, and she started ambling toward the visitor for a ‘casual’ meeting along the road. 

He was young, that age where childhood and adulthood were still clashing in body and mind. A big lug of a Roegadyn, his skin so pale it was barely green at all, with light chestnut hair and a freshly cut beard that likely was still growing in patches. He was wearing cheap leather armor, paired with a short sword in an equally cheap scabbard, and a poor excuse for a shield. 

And he was alone. 

That was new. Usually it was full parties of grizzled adventurers that went looking for the terrible witch of the swamp. Maybe this day would prove to be fun after all.

“Ho, old crone!” the youth hailed her, and her mood immediately soured, “do you know where I can find the hut of the witch Shebrona?”

She cleared her throat and thumped her cane on the ground. “An adventurer should know better than to call women _crones_ , child. Especially strange old women in swamps. Nonetheless, I am the one you’re looking for. Congratulations. You found me.”

That seemed to take the youth aback. “You are? Uh, not that I want to say that I don’t believe you, but everyone says you’re reclusive and don’t want to meet people and-”

“Yes, yes, I know the rumors. I’m the one who started most of them, after all,” she interrupted, waving her cane about, “I do not have extra nipples, though. The people at Camp Drybone came up with that all on their own.”

The youth’s skin was now flushed a particular shade of crimson. Good. If he could still be embarrassed, then maybe there was still hope for this one.

Since she seemed to have shocked him into silence, she continued. “I keep myself away from people for a reason. But when folks like you come here looking to avail yourself of my skills, you trample through the whole swamp and slay a thousand beasts and cut down half the trees and let me tell you, that makes a _fine mess_ of the whole ecosystem. So, these days, I just speed things up by coming to meet you before you lot can do too much damage.”

The boy nodded slowly, likely just being acquiescent rather than in actual agreement, then cleared his throat. “So, that one rumour is true, then. You can see-”

“I can, yes. Is that why you’re here, young man? You want to know the future? You want to see if you’ll become a hero, renowned all over the realm, or if it’s better for you to stay home to clean stables or brew beer with a wee lass?”

“Er. Yes? More or less,” the boy fidgeted, absentmindedly rubbing his arms, “Are you absolutely sure that you don’t need any smiting, though? Only I was told-”

She turned away sharply. “Ten, strong morbol vines. I need to rethatch my roof and those things are sturdy. When you’re done, you can follow the smoke trail to my hut.”

The youth smiled in a way that would have made her knees weak several epochs ago. “What happened to not upsetting the ecosystem?”

Oh, cheeky. 

“Eh, those things are mostly a pest. And they upset my chickens.”

“Chickens?”

“What, you think I live on a diet of berries and salamander meat? Yes, chickens. I’ll put up some tea and get ready for your reading while you do your part. Now go!”

* * *

Hastaloeya narrowly dodged the patch of foetid miasma and felled the last of the morbols with a swift stroke. 

Cutting away at the thick vines with his hunting knife, he took in the sorry state of his gear: his boots were more mud than leather from mucking around in the swamp, his sword edge was all but dull in a few points, and even the teeth of his big knife were starting to lose their bite after sawing through so many of the plant-like strands. He’d be lucky if his gloves didn’t become completely fingerless before he could find someone to repair them.

With what coin, though? Despite what he’d been led to believe, helping random people with their problems usually didn’t repay him with anything more than a hot meal and being allowed to sleep in the hayloft. Some people had tried to pay him with heirloom jewelry (and, in a very unfortunate case, with the promise of sending their newborn baby to squire for him as soon as he was of age) but what would he do with those? He’d have to go all the way to the markets in Limsa to try and sell those at a reasonable price, and the expense would be higher than the reward. 

He hoped that whatever the witch could see in his future would prove worthy of ruining the last of his equipment.

To be honest, Shebrona was nothing like he had imagined either. While most magic users he knew tried to keep themselves shrouded in an air of mystery, the old woman mostly looked like… well, an old woman who lived alone in a swamp. And if she needed vines to fix it, her hut was likely just a hut as well, and not an abandoned ancient temple she had claimed as her home. 

As he dragged the long vines behind him, cursing every time they snagged into a root or he risked losing his boot to a patch of deep bog, he wondered why she had worked so hard to live so far away from other people. Someone with her sort of power could get rich easily in a big city, and without having to hack anything down either.

The swamp was labyrinthine but, as promised, he had at least the smoke from the witch’s fire as a beacon to follow. By the time he reached the hut, which did really need a new roof, he was tired and famished and completely sogged. 

Still, when the witch peered through the door, almost surprised to find him there after all, he pasted a smile on his face and asked, “Here are your vines. Do you need me to affix them to the roof as well?”

“Nah,” she went back inside, and her voice came slightly muffled from the wooden walls, “you need to use some special pitch and extra knots to keep them in place, and you’d only make a bungle of it. I’ll do it myself later. There’s a pump in the back if you want to clean off before you come in.”

Something in her voice made it clear that the cleaning was not optional. Not that he was about to refuse anyway. He stank.

As clean as he could get by dunking cold water over his dirty clothes and rubbing them raw with an old brush, he made his way inside the hut. It was even more bare bones than he imagined, though not without its comforts. A large rug sat under an armchair whose color had faded but still looked very plushy, and all was awash with the soft glow of crystal shards hanging from any possible surface.

“You can say it’s quaint,” Shebrona said, dumping an almost scalding earthenware mug full of tea in his hands, “I’ve heard it before. And quaint is better than other adjectives I’ve heard, at least.”

“I was going to say rustic,” Hastal replied, blowing fast on the hot liquid to try and cool it down.

“Hah! That one’s not bad either. Not all adventurers are good with their words. So,” she said, flopping down on the armchair with a mug of her own, “tell me a little about yourself. Where do you come from, why you want to go adventuring, the usual.”

Hastaloeya took a tip of tea before answering, which in hindsight was a bad decision. It was not hot: it was _lava_.

“Uhm. I come from Red Rooster Stead. My da’s a travelling merchant, so we spent most of our time selling the local produce and livestock at the markets in Limsa. That’s where I saw him.”

The witch smirked. “Him?”

“Yeah. The one they call the Warrior of Light. He just… swept through. Larger than life, silver-haired, wearing the oddest outfit I’d ever seen. Running all over the place to question people along with his friends, grinning at an ambush like it was a party, firing arrows as easy as breathing...” He shook his head. “I didn’t mind peddling wares. It’s good living, and I get to see all sorts of people. But seeing him made my heart race like nothing I’d seen before. That’s when I decided I wanted to try and be an adventurer. To feel that thrill every single day.”

“Hmm. And are you sure it was the thrill of _adventure_ you were after, and not something else?”

He blinked at the witch’s words. “Whatever do you mean? What else could it be?”

“Nevermind. So, how long have you been at the trade now?”

“Close to twelve moons. That’s when I’m supposed to return to my father and tell him if this is the life for me, or if I’m going back to the family business.”

She nodded, slowly. “And rather than decide yourself, you came to me to peer at your future. Well, that still took spunk, although of a different sort. Few people figure out where I’m really hiding, and even fewer have the courage to come and face me.”

Hastal closed his hands in a fist, staring down at the witch, who seemed merely bemused. “I don’t- I can-” he growled, “Look, I like this life, but it’s expensive! Helping people is fine and all, but I can’t do it if my armor is falling to pieces or my sword is more blunt than a club! All I want to know is if there is a future where I work it out!”

The witch stared hard at him then, and he gulped. Something had subtly shifted in the air while he was talking, though he couldn’t quite figure out what. The shadows loomed longer, too. 

He convinced himself it was just the effect of the setting sun.

Shebrona held out her right hand, palm up. “Take it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hastaloeya leaned forward from his seat and placed his big left hand in her small, wizened one. There was a tingle, like static, and the witch clutched her head-

* * *

Well. _That_ was interesting.

Shebrona patted the boy’s hand gently away, then took a big gulp of her tea to try and push back the headache. “Agh. Gods, I always forget the migraines. The Echo could try to be a tad gentler...”

The young warrior was staring at her in worry, and she waved him away in irritation. “I’m fine, I’m fine, there’s no need to fuss over me like a mama hen! But now you know one reason why I don’t like people.” 

“How,” he asked, almost fearfully, “How does it work?”

“Eh. Very few people have the Echo, as you might know. Most see flashes from the past. Some are attuned to people’s aether. Me, I see the future. Well, futures, plural.” She wet her lips. “Every person that comes by, every child that bumps against me, every trader I give a coin to… I might accidentally peer into their lives. What will happen, and all that could, however unlikely, all superimposed. Even besides the headaches, what I see is not always nice.”

Why was she telling him that much? Maybe because of his futures. Maybe she just liked him.

“I tried to steer people away from the bad futures, at first. They laughed me off and called me crazy, if not worse. Then I learned to keep it all inside and trudge through my day. Eventually I figured out that the only way to not go insane for real was to keep people away,” she sighed, “and that’s how I came to live in a swamp after telling everyone that I’m a horrible witch. But some of you come here anyway. So. Do you want your verdict or not?”

The boy retreated to his seat, then slowly nodded once. 

“Very well. But before I unveil the secrets of your possible lives, I have to ask… have you considered a slightly different sort of career?”

He cocked his head. “Such as?”

“The Grand Companies are recruiting. No, don’t make that face. They have tasked some of their more promising officers with enlisting adventurers for their own squadrons, somewhere halfway between the army and a free company. Why, the Twin Adder-”

The young warrior grimaced. “The Gridanians? They don’t even like us sea folks. If I really have to give up adventuring to join the army, I might as well join the Maelstrom.”

Ah, youth. “Let me finish, boy. As I was saying, the Twin Adder has just assigned Caranraw Greyhame to recruit for such a squadron.”

He squinted, tilted his head. “Should I know-”

“I think you know him,” she grinned like the proverbial coeurl, “as the Warrior of Light.”

The boy almost jumped up from his chair. “And he’s recruiting? Right now? How many spots are left? No, of course, that’s not the future, you can’t tell- Excuse me. I have to go now. Thank you for the tea. And everything.”

Shebrona waited until the boy was well out of hearing range, and then laughed and laughed and laughed. “ _Adventuring_ my old ass. Ah well. It will have a happy ending anyway.”

* * *

“Congratulations, recruit. You have been accepted into the Warrior of Light’s squadron. Try not to let him down too much, will you, hmm?” The moustached Elezen dropped a neatly folded uniform in his arms, along with a regulation sword and shield, and waved vaguely to an empty bunk in the barracks. “Oh, and training starts tomorrow morning at dawn. He might think that you show _promise_ , whatever that means, but don’t think we’re letting you out in a Serpent uniform while you still wield that sword like a cow.”

The insults washed over Hastaloeya like water off a duck’s back. He didn’t care if some old pointy ears didn’t like him. Hells, he didn’t care if the whole of Gridania didn’t. He was going to fight alongside the Warrior of Light. He was going to be a hero that his father - no, that _everyone_ would be proud of. And on that day Chief Sergeant Greyhame would turn to him and smile and-

He shook his head, trying to will the blush away from his cheeks. No, that was stupid. Silly. Impossible. He was only here to be an adventurer.

It was only a long time later that he wondered: if the witch could only see the future, then how did she know that the Warrior of Light was recruiting? Unless, of course… 

The wind swept through his hair, and in that moment, he could have sworn it was Shebrona’s laughter echoing in the woods.


	8. 11 - Ultracrepidarian

“That’s not how you do it.”

Hastaloeya stopped mid-swing. “I’m sorry?”

The old Elezen stared at him through thin eyelids, hands clasped behind his back. “That’s not how we do it. Back in my day, we didn’t use our swords like that.”

"Well, as a matter of fact, these days we use them like this." The pale Roegadyn resumed his training, moving through different thrusts and parries in a slow dance. It was nothing like true combat, of course, but that was not the point: the repetitive movements were meant to make his muscles used to the stances until they became a second nature, his subconscious ready to spring into action even before his mind registered the need. 

"Your elbow is too far to the left." 

Hastal's concentration was thrown off by the sudden cry, and he almost stumbled on his own feet. "Are you still here, old man? These are the Twin Adder training grounds, you know. Did you get lost?" 

"Why do you wanna know, hmm? You gonna arrest me for watching?" 

"I don't-" Hastaloeya sighed and pinched his nose, "can you just go bother someone else? Please?" 

“You call  _ that  _ a shield parry?”

“Your footwork is all wrong!”

“Back in my day we had real swords, not like that toothpick you’re using! And they lasted longer, too!”

Not only the old man didn’t leave until late, but he came back the next day. And the next. And the day after that. 

He seemed to find a random recruit to stare at, always with his hands behind his back, and then throw random remarks at them all day long. Sometimes he switched for a few hours, only to return to his original target.

For some reason, Hastaloeya seemed to be his favourite. Aside from the days when the gladiator was out on missions or assignments, the old man was always at his side, always staring, always complaining, always throwing him off his guard by shouting inane and utterly wrong remarks at random intervals. 

The ‘utterly wrong’ part was what irked him most. He didn’t mind learning from the elders, so far as those elders had at least a basic knowledge of which was the sharp end of their weapon. So far, the only sharp end he had witnessed the wizened Elezen use was that of his tongue. 

“If words could be weaponized,” he told his instructor at the end of a particularly hard day, “we could send that man on the first lines and the Garleans would fall at our feet begging for mercy. Why do we even let him wander in the barracks? Is he a veteran or something like that?”

“Who, old Robinur?” the big woman laughed, “No, he’s just an old coot, but he has his uses.”

She turned and left to yell at a recruit that was wielding his axe all wrong, leaving Hastaloeya to wonder what exactly those uses could be.

“...have you even heard a word I said, lad?”

Hastaloeya stopped mid-swing and blinked. “Huh. Hey, old man. How long have you been there?”

Robinur pulled himself up - as much as he could with his bad back, at least - and stared at the gladiator with scorn. “What do you mean, how long I have been here? I have been giving you good advice for a solid hour now and you have been ignoring-”

Hastal tuned him out and returned to his training, no longer distracted by bad advice, startling cries, and constant background noise. 

His mind wandered back to that conversation he had with his instructor several weeks ago. Today, an old coot. Tomorrow, the din and chaos of a skirmish. And soon enough, if the news from the Gyr Abanian border were to be believed, he would have to keep his calm in the middle of the deafening, roaring tumult of war. 

Yes, old Robinur certainly had his use. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that squadrons were introduced in 4.1 but, since I started levelling up mine sometime during/after Heavensward, in this timeline Caran has already recruited them all by the time Stormblood begins.
> 
> Robinur is based on the Italian stereotype of the [_umarèl_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umarell), old men who spend most of their days watching construction works, standing with their hands behind their back and occasionally giving 'helpful' suggestions to the workers. They are a migratory species, wandering from building site to building site following strange magnetic currents only perceptible by those who have reached the age of retirement.


	9. 12 - Tooth and nail

The lalafells were a joke. She knew that better than most. She was one, after all. 

People never took her race seriously, even when they were great carpenters, or farmers, or engineers. They were always _the ones that looked like kids_. In most people's minds that was justification enough to treat them as such. 

That was why, when her family lost their farm and their house in a fire, no one moved a finger to help. Cute things aren't supposed to have tragic histories. They shouldn't make you feel bad. Better to sweep them under a rag of ashes and pretend they're not there. 

Oh, later the monetarists helped in their own way, with their loans and their collaterals. 

Two bad harvests were enough to wreck them worse than the fire did. And so, to save her parents, she sold herself to the Coliseum. She was barely fourteen, but she had strong arms from working the fields. She would survive there. 

And even if she didn't, her parents' debt would be paid off by her death. 

Older recruits at the Gladiators' guild didn't give her two days. She made them regret their underestimation in due time, when the double-edged axe felt familiar in her hands as hoe and spade did before. 

She never regretted her choice, never took shame in her job. When she wasn't fighting tooth and nail, she was training to survive another day. But for her parents' sake, to save them the shame of having a chattel slave for a daughter, she decided to wear a mask, a persona. Whenever she walked the sands of the arena, she stopped being herself and the Blue Dervish took her place. 

She raised a small fame in the years to follow, though never as much as the famous Bull and his adopted son - such legendary stories could only happen once in a generation, and two was already straining it. Pipin Tarupin had already stolen whatever pinnacle of glory she could aim for, and of course, in the shadow of a great Hyuran man. Still, alongside fame, she rose enough money to pay herself back, and her debt. 

The first thing she did as a free woman was to return home, only to learn that an enemy even crueler than fire and gil had taken her parents. The Calamity had upended the very ground, taking the house and its occupants with it, the survivors said. But she could have the land back, if she wanted. It was hers by right. 

Her eyes were cold as ice as she said "There is nothing here that is mine." 

Months followed, then years. The Blue Dervish never returned to the arena, but she made a name for herself in adjacent fields as a mercenary and a hired hand. Small jobs or big jobs, hurting monsters or people, it didn't matter. But if anyone ever asked her to collect debts, she would threaten to chop their hands off. 

Then one day the marauder was called to help fight a mark bigger than she could chew alone. "Interested parties," her contact said, "have put a huge bounty on someone who calls himself the Warrior of Light. Huge enough to call in a whole team for this. Your role is simple: keep him busy, and when the time comes, make him turn his back to the forest." 

The bounty was tempting, but even more tempting was the idea of ridding the world of someone who thought so much of themselves that they would name themselves like the great heroes of eld. 

"I'm in."

"Warrior of Light. I would challenge you." 

Her voice was even, her gaze almost uninterested as she levelled her axe at him. He must have sensed that her words were true, though, for the big, grey Roegadyn slowly nocked an arrow in his bow. 

"I hate that title," he sighed, almost to himself, "brings nothing but trouble. But if the famous Blue Dervish asks me, who am I to refuse?" 

Interesting, she thought. Maybe he wasn't what she thought. But still, she had a job to do. 

The fight was not as straightforward a she had predicted. Despite being a bowman, the man could keep her at a distance easily, only ever shooting at her feet when she got too close. Weirdly, he never did seem to move to the offensive. Did he think her a less than worthy opponent? Did he pity her? Well, like the people in the Coliseum, she would teach him that just because she was small-

A glint in the forest was her signal. She stepped to the side, waiting for her mark to follow, but instead he turned his bow to the woods and let loose an arrow refulgent with aether. She didn't need to see beyond the wooden canopy to know that the crossbowman had been killed. 

"Anyone else wants to join the party?" the Warrior of Light growled, and she noticed that she had started calling him that in her mind, because that was a superhuman feat she had just witnessed. Beyond mortal limits. 

"Well, we had hoped that the sniper or the marauder would do the job for us, or at least slow you down a little," a masked pugilist said, emerging from the undergrowth, "but it looks like we'll have to do everything ourselves. Come on, guys!" 

There was a dozen of them, and one of him. Two, if you counted his chocobo, who had been pecking the ground peacefully until then, only to suddenly turn into a fury against the assailants.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually there were a dozen of them on the ground, and still one of him standing, although panting from effort. 

As he bent to retrieve his arrows from the dead, she noticed two things: she had not attacked him with the others, and he had not attacked her. 

When he had saved as many shafts as he could, he raised his eyes to her and stared from under the rim of his wide-brimmed hat. "Is there a reason why you're still here? I thought you'd have fled by now." 

She was wondering the same thing herself. 

But something was pulling at her. Something she didn't know how to name. This man who refused to be called a Hero of Light had slain some of the strongest fighters in her trade, and yet she was still alive and unscathed. How? Why? 

"I think you should know that I was out here for a mark too. Someone put a bounty on the Blue Dervish, and someone else whispered in my ears that you could likely be found here. And then  _you_ challenged _me_. Whoever hatched this plan needs to learn more subtlety."

She didn't know what to reply to that either, but she found that she now knew how to answer the earlier question. "I want you to teach me. I want to be like you." 

"You're already well-versed at killing. I doubt I could teach you more unless you took up bow and arrow." 

"No, not that. I want you to teach me when to stay my hand."

The Roegadyn kept his eyes trained on her for a long time, then turned his back and started checking the saddle on his chocobo. "I've been assigned command of a squadron in the Twin Adder, in Gridania. If you're really interested, make me find your application in three days' time. Sure, life in the army is not as glamorous as that of a sellsword, but…"

"And what about the bounty?" 

"No one in the Twelveswood knows what the Dervish looks like. For all I know," he picked up one of the bodies by the neck of her leather vest, "she could be the one. After a dip in blue dye, of course." 

He threw the body over the saddle, which made the chocobo qwek in complaint, then started walking back the way he came, his companion at his side. 

"Wait," she cried at the receding figure. _Why_ , she wanted to ask. _Why did you spare me? Why are you giving me a second chance?_ But what came out instead was, "who did I have to send that application to?" 

He answered without stopping or turning. "Caranraw Greyhame. And who should I expect it from?" 

She hadn't used that name in years. It felt strange to have it again on her lips, yet oddly right, as if she was just reborn to a life she had thought lost. "Kelmomo. My name is Kelmomo." 


	10. 15 - Ache

“She won’t notice you if you just keep pining silently after her.”

Nunulupa jumped. Teulzacq, the Duskwight pugilist, had snuck up on him with uncharacteristic stealth. 

The Lalafell thaumaturge pried his eyes away from where Kelmomo and Cecily were perusing the squadron’s tomes on advanced tactics, and turned to his friend with a dry laugh. “I have a hard time believing she doesn’t know. The only way I could make it more evident would be if I started sighing forlornly whenever she passed by.”

“Oh, I can think of a few more ways,” the Elezen grinned, counting on his fingertips, “You could throw flower petals at her feet. Send her baskets of fluffy bunnies as a gift. Recite love poems under the window of her room-”

Nunu cringed. “Twelve gods, do people actually do stuff like that? I imagine she would make stew of the rabbits, and just dump the contents of her chamber pot on the impromptu bard. A double serving of ignominy and heartache.”

Teulzacq shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t given much practical thought to courting, lately. I have spent most of my time training.”

“And arguing with Labonrit.”

“And arguing with Labonrit,” the pugilist conceded with a smirk, ”Although the love poems seem to work for Captain Caranraw and that Doman friend of his.”

“Shun.”

“Right.”

Nunulupa crossed his arms. “We all know that’s a nickname for some higher-up, right? ‘Stable boy at the Enclave’, my ass.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“He’s so damn evasive when he talks about him.”

“Except when he’s gushing him with praises about his, well, everything.”

Nunu nodded. “The only other Doman he seems to value almost half as much is that Lord Hien. In fact, hearing him talk about the two, one would think them one and the-” 

He trailed off, mouth agape, and stared at his friend.

“You don’t think…”

“No-o-o,” Teulzacq answered, doubt creeping in his voice, “that would be-”

“What are you guys talking about?”

The two jumped, shocked out of their speculations, and smiled wanly at the Hyur conjurer. “Oh, hey Cecily! Didn’t see you there!”

“We were just talking about, uh-”

“Bunnies!”

“Yes, bunnies. We saw a recruit with a white bunny minion and thought it was cute.”

“Very cute.”

“Very.”

Kelmomo had, meanwhile, reached the three, and was staring at them with her usual impassive gaze. “Bunnies. Why did I assume you men had anything important on your minds.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cecily said, as the two women left the barracks, “I think rabbits are lovely too. Especially in a fricassee. With carrots and onions and mushrooms…”

It was a few weeks later, when Nunulupa was stuck in the barracks with a sprained wrist, that he received a most unexpected gift in the shape of a small basket, containing - thankfully - a single dwarf bunny.

There was no note or sender information attached, but he could have sworn that the corners of Kelmomo’s lips had turned upwards for a moment the next time she had come to visit and she’d found him dangling bits of carrot from a string for the fluffy creature to chase.

Maybe, Nunu thought, there was some merit to this courting business after all.


	11. 16 - Lucubration

“Hey Gnawing, what’s that you’re reading? Anything interesting?”  
The brown-skinned Roegadyn raised his starling yellow eyes from the page. “Nanasomi. I didn’t hear you come in.”  
The archer laughed. “I bet! You were so engrossed in that tome, I figured I could putz around for a half bell before you noticed me.”  
Gnawing Goat returned a small smile. “What can I say? I like books. Especially obscure books on magical theory.” He turned the volume so she could read the small lettering on the spine: An Extensive Treatife On The Uses Of Water-Afpected Aether In The Healing Of Ailments Of The Gallbladder.  
She furrowed her brows. “They misspelled some of the words. But I’m impressed that they managed to fit so many characters on the spine. And that there are so many gallbladder ailments to fill such a huge book.”  
“This volume is quite old. They used to spell things differently back then,” the Roegadyn explained, “and to be honest, the actual parts on healing are rather slim. Most of the book is theories on the nature of aether, analytical experiments on water-aspected crystals, and funny anecdotes about the writer’s life.”  
“Such as?”  
“Apparently he had several run-ins with a horrible fowl of some kind. He was convinced that the bird was following him all over Eorzea and further.”  
Nanasomi nodded. “Oh, I can believe that. Some birds can really hold a grudge.”  
“Oh?” Gnawing Goat said, “Sounds like you have some avian anecdotes of your own.”  
“Let me just say this: never cross a crow with a knife in its beak…”


	12. 17 - Fade

It was never easy to watch the light fade out from someone’s eyes. It was even harder when it was the eyes of someone you knew and loved.

Cecily replaced the warm towel on the brow of her aunt C’ress with a cold, damp one. She knew it was just a palliative against the high fever, but it was all she could do for her. Medicines had stopped working against the ague that had taken her, and misfortune wanted that C’ress herself was the only magical healer in all the nearby villages with the skill to cure more than bad cuts and the hay fever. 

C’ress wasn’t, of course, Cecily’s actual aunt, one being a Miqo’te and the other a Hyur. The older woman, however, had been a constant in the child’s life, being a close friend of her parents, a teacher, a healer, and occasionally a babysitter - although her idea of tending to children was mostly to set them to small jobs in the fashion of a game. 

That had been how Cecily, from a tender age, was introduced to the art of healing via elixirs and poultices and ground willow bark.

As the girl grew up, C’ress had started introducing her to the mysteries of the elements, showing Cecily that one could conjure the forces of nature to speed healing. “Water, wind, and stone surround our lives, little one. We do not harness their power, but we beg for their help, and as long as we keep the balance in the woods, they will not hesitate to grant it to us. That is the dance of the elements. Keep the balance, and the balance will keep you.”

“Can you teach me, aunt Ress? I want to call on the elements too!” the little girl cried, jumping on the spot and trying to reach the Miqo’te’s cane. 

C’ress always laughed at that. “Soon, little one, soon. To call on the power of nature, you must be one with nature. Once you know all the arts of healing with herbs and plants, healing with the elements will be second nature to you.”

That selfsame balance, however, was now failing the older woman, now not even able to stand from her sickbed. 

Cecily asked herself when C’ress had last been able to eat something. A little bread dipped in lukewarm broth two days before, perhaps? Not enough for the woman’s body to regain strength, or fight off the illness.

It was time to try something more.

“Heal!”

Cecily raised C’ress’s cane over the woman’s limp body, willing the elements to listen to her plea. She practised the same motions she had seen the older woman perform a hundred times, she closed her eyes, she asked, she commanded, she begged, but still the woods would not answer her. No healing aether sprang forward from the cane, no elemental visited the dark cottage to bring succor. 

“Heal! Cure! Regen! Medica!” Cecily kept trying, over and over, not caring if someone else heard her, if one of the villagers or her brothers thought her mad. She had to save C’ress. She had to, or what was all her training for?

Weeping, the teenager fell to her knees at the woman’s side. “I’m sorry, auntie. I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

“You haven’t failed me, girl,” a raspy voice answered after an indefinite amount of time, “nor are the elements ignoring you. It is simply my time.” A fit of cough shook the old Miqo’te’s body, and Cecily rushed to hold her steady.

“No, auntie, it can’t be! There must be something we can do! If medicine can’t fix it, then magic must be able to!”

“Magic might be able to, but at what price? What do you want to die so that I might live?”

Cecily startled at the words.

“Ah, see? You heard my teachings, but didn’t take them to heart, or maybe it’s sentimentality that is blinding you. Life is balance, girl. The woods are generous, but even they can’t give so much without upsetting the scales.”

Cecily was now weeping again, barely able to see the woman through the tears. “Auntie Ress. I- I don’t want to say goodbye!”

“Then don’t,” the woman chuckled, though it came out more as a hoarse whisper, “stay with me and talk to me like it’s just any other warm sunny day. But if I could ask you to do something for me-”

“Anything, oh auntie, anything!”

“-chill that towel for me, will you? My head is so warm.”

Cecily made for the bowl of once-icy water where the other towel had been cooling off, but C’ress, feebly but surprisingly fast, grasped her wrist. “No. The one on my head.”

“But auntie-”

“Shush. I’ve done quite enough to deserve this small favor, at least. This one they will not deny.”

Cecily understood now. She raised the cane again and whispered a prayer to the spirits of water, and streams, and icy brooks. Magic flowed freely from the wood to the towel and, after a moment, all over C’ress’s body as well. When Cecily next touched her teacher, the fever seemed to have abated a little.

It was a palliative, nothing more: that much she knew. But it was what she could do, and that would have to be enough.

A few weeks later, Madelle of the Conjurer’s Guild raised her gaze from the counter to the inquisitive brown eyes of a young girl, dressed in what was likely the best finery a small village could afford.

“Hello there! Can we do anything for- oh, sorry,” she smiled, noticing the ancient maple cane strapped to the girl’s back, “I didn’t recognize you as one of ours! I thought I knew all the conjurers in Gridania.” 

Cecily shook her head, but her hands unconsciously moved to caress the crooked end of C’ress’s cane. Her cane, now. “My name is Cecily, and I’m a healer. I would like to be of help.”


	13. 18 - Panglossian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild spoilers for the Shadowbringer MSQ

“Do you think,” Nanasomi asked, “that this is the best of all possible worlds?”

“That is an inane question,” Labonrit answered, barely looking away from his carbuncle, whom he was trying to teach some new tricks to, “the world is the world. It’s the only one there is, so it’s by definition both the worst and the best it can be.”

The Lalafell huffed. “And what about everything the boss said, then? If time travel is possible, and there are other shards, and the Source was once one with them, and there are other distant stars too-”

“-then those things all already exist somewhere or somewhen, be they other stars or planes or dimensions or alternate timelines. If there is a better world than this in space or time, it is because someone made it so, not because it came up fully formed that way. Even if those same people won’t get to see the fruits of their labor, like the Garlond Ironworks from that far future that sent the Crystal Tower back in time to change our present.”

Nanasomi thought about that for a minute, tapping her chin. “I don’t know if I got all that in the right order,” she drew the words out, “but I can get behind the sentiment: if we can imagine a better world, then it’s up to us to shape it.”

“Quite so.”


	14. 19 - Where the Heart is

“Hastal, are you even listening to me?”

Hastaloeya, Twin Adder private, snapped back to attention. “Yes, sir. Advance from the left on the Imperials, providing cover for the ranged units until they are in position.”

Caranraw Greyhame, Warrior of Light and, not incidentally, also his commanding officer chuckled. “Well, look at that: you were paying attention after all. Just try not to  _ look  _ so distracted next time when your mind is focused on two things at once.”

The Roegadyn gladiator nodded, repressing a gulp. That would be extremely hard to do, since the other thing that was occupying his mind was Captain Greyhame himself.

Nunulupa sighed. And then he heard his sigh again like an echo, except this one was lower-timbred and coming from considerably higher than his head. 

Peering around the corner of the wall he was leaning on, he saw Hastaloeya slumped in a similar position, arms crossed and eyes fixed on some spot on the hardwood floor.

“That’s a romantic pining if I’ve ever heard one, my boy. Care to share your troubles?”

The Roegadyn turned to Nunu and blushed, clearly not expecting to have an audience. “What? Me, pining? Haha, I don’t know what-”

“Please,” Nunu waved a hand to dismiss Hastal’s objections, “I know that sort of sigh. Hells, I  _ mastered  _ it. Gridania’s current champion, two years running, though I can certainly say you’re giving me a run for my money.”

Hastal managed a small smile. Everyone knew the thaumaturge had a soft spot for their marauder, Kelmomo, though neither Lalafell had done anything to cross the distance so far. “Very well. You got me. There’s someone on my mind, but they’re unattainable due to… various situations. And even if they were available, I doubt they’d notice someone like me.”

The corners of Nunulupa’s lips curled up in a knowing smile. He had a good idea of who that someone was and, since he wasn’t completely blind, he could say with some certainty that the Captain had certainly noticed Hastaloeya’s fine figure more than one time. 

“Oh, don’t put yourself down like that,” he replied, eventually, “even though that one fish might already be hooked, there are plenty others in the seas. And who knows, you might find that some people’s dancing cards have room for more than one partner, if you only dared to make the first move.”

The gladiator blushed even more, two bright red apples spreading on his cheeks. “You’re one to talk! I haven’t seen you make a move on… _you know who_ , even though you’re head over heels for her, and she doesn’t seem to be completely repulsed by the idea of you.”

Nunulupa quirked his brows. “Oh? And how would you know that?”

“Well,” Hastal gestured, “she hasn’t killed you yet.”

That brought a laugh to the thaumaturge’s lips. “True, true. But you know, she’s an experienced, hardened veteran, while I’m very much a rookie compared to her, and younger too. Sometimes I think that all the respect and admiration in the world is not enough to fit that gap.”

Hastaloeya’s expression went momentarily vacant, thinking of how much the Captain had accomplished in such a short time as an adventurer. What did the hero of all of Eorzea have in common with a rookie swordslinger? “Yeah. I hear you.”

“Have you ever,” Nunulupa asked some time later, “thought of, you know, leaving? To get some distance between you and that person you like? See if it would make it easier to get over them?”

The gladiator nodded. “Many times. Hells, it would be easy. I’m not even that big a fan of Gridania. Before coming here, I thought it was just a den of racist, pointy-eared assholes.”

“That is… not the most inaccurate description I ever heard,” Nunulupa conceded, “which brings however the question of why do you stay, then? Wouldn’t you rather serve in the region you were born? Help defend your home?”

Hastaloeya thought for some time before answering. “They say home is where the heart is. In that case, the place I have to defend is right here, or wherever he wants me to go. Even if he’ll never know.”

Nunulupa gave a slow nod. “Even if it’s unrequited. We’ll watch their backs. We’ll care for what they deem worth defending.”

“We’re really a desperate case, the two of us, aren’t we?” Hastaloeya laughed, and Nunu joined in. 

“I prefer to think of us as shining knights.”

“That’s even worse.”


	15. 20 - Funk and Rock (free day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is severely fanboyish and self-indulgent and slightly off my self-imposed theme, but technically Caranraw is part of his own squadron so it counts. Very, very mild 5.2 spoilers.

“It’s no use,” Caranraw cried, “they’re too strong!”

It took him a moment to remember that there was no one to shout to. With the Scions returned safely to the Source, Ryne busy with Eden, and his squadron unable to cross into the First, he was once more reduced to travelling the land alone, like in his early days of adventuring.

The archer had been hunting a Forgiven Cowardice in the Hills of Amber at the behest of the people of Twine, after two merchant caravans had been forced to flee and abandon their wares when the horse-headed Sin Eater had attacked them. It was a small miracle that no one had gotten killed, or turned, but it was only a matter of time before the Eater had its feast.

Once he’d reached the area where the carts had been attacked, though the winged Cowardice had left no tracks on the ground, it had been easy to pick up its trail and follow it. Unfortunately, it had been easy because the Sin Eater had been locked into a loud, earth-shaking fight with two debitage golems. 

The three seemed evenly matched, one golem retreating temporarily into the ground whenever it got too weak, the Eater flying higher than their reach to seal its wounds before a new attack. 

Caranraw wasn’t too sure why the Sin Eater had attacked the golems - maybe the aether in their soulstones somehow resembled the living souls it was trying to convert? - but he had tried to use their quarrel to his advantage, firing arrows on the Cowardice from a secluded spot, trying to weaken it enough for the debitages to deliver the final blow. 

Unfortunately, the three creatures had preternatural senses and, whenever he fired his bow, they immediately turned their attention in his direction and charged together, their animosity momentarily forgotten.

After three narrow escapes, the last of which had seen his hat become the victim of a vicious swipe, the Warrior of Darkness had to admit that this wasn’t a mark he could handle alone. 

That’s when he started hearing the beat. 

It seemed to come from everywhere at once, making the dust and sand on the ground vibrate in rhythm to the deep bass. Even the three monsters halted their blows, turning their heads this way and that to find the source of the commotion.

The attack came from above, two figures wrapped in large desert cloaks, brandishing two unusually shaped weapons which seemed to be the source of the sound. 

As they got closer, he saw that what they held were no weapons but instruments, and the sound shaped itself into music: deep and heavily syncopated from one fighter, loud and reverberating from the other, not quite unlike the aetheric guitar that G’raha had gifted him a few months before. 

The music shaped the aether around them, turning into a cyclone of rock and sand that caught the three monsters in its wake, rising continuously into a twanging crescendo. Caranraw pondered for a moment whether to grab his lute and join in the melody, but no, he would just spoil the perfect harmony between the two bards in front of him. He contented himself with firing a few more arrows at the Sin Eater, almost perfunctorily, as the music rose to its highest pitch and the monsters exploded into aether, dispersing themselves into the atmosphere. 

The gale had blown away the hood of their cloaks, so Caranraw squinted against the settling dust to try and glimpse their features: one was of dark complexion, with a dart-shaped necklace at his neck, while the other was paler and had a hat that resembled a wolf’s head.

That reminded him that he would need a new hat, and he mourned a moment for the old one. He had quite liked that wide brim.

The brief moment of distraction was enough for the two warriors to jump away and disappear, leaving only a faint echo of their music as the only sign of their passage.

“Two bards? Aye, I’ve heard of them,” Horthur said. 

Once back in Twine, Caranraw had started asking about the two heroes. Luckily, his miner friend was as always on top of the local gossip. “People have started seeing them all over Norvrandt after that affair with the meteor swarm, when so many new adventurers have started roaming the realm. The others call themselves Warriors of Light, or strive to be one at least, but these two have been given peculiar titles by the people they have saved.”

“Is that so?” Caranraw smiled, thinking of the several names he had himself been given during the course of his career, “What are these unique heroes called, then?”

“One is known as the Warrior of Rock,” Horthur replied, “and the other as the Warrior of Funk. I’m not sure why stones and odors are supposed to be heroic, but they seem to wear those appellations with pride.”

“Odd names both,” the archer agreed, scratching his beard in thought, “but still… do you think they might be looking for a vocalist?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Funk and Warrior of Rock are shoutouts to [Alex Moukala](https://www.youtube.com/c/AlexMoukalaMusic) and [Husky by the Geek](https://www.youtube.com/c/Huskybythegeek), both greatly talented musicians who make awesome FF-related music analysis and arrangements. Go check out their works!


	16. 21 - Foibles

Everyone in the squadron had their foibles. Hastaloeya had his penchant for sharing unnecessary trivia. Nunulupa shoved food in his gullet and chewed with his mouth open until someone slapped him on the head. Nanasomi always forgot when it was her turn to feed the chocobos. Labonrit left books open everywhere without a bookmark, and Teulzacq shelved them back in random order and, sometimes, upside down. Cecily stuffed unsolicited sachets of lavender in their comrades’ footlockers. Kelmomo would not answer any question she deemed stupid or irrelevant. 

As for the boss, well, there was no part of him that wasn’t queer. 

After a while, a squadron member had three choices: they could learn to live with the others’ quirks; they could leave the squadron; or they could result to murder. 

After a year together, it was surprising that the third option hadn’t come up more often, and the second not even once. 

But the newest recruit, Callous Steed, had a character flaw they simply could not live with.

“He has to go,” they all gathered one night after an arduous mission to bring their case to their commanding officer, “he’s a fine soldier and a good thaumaturge and everything, but we can’t work with him. Reassign him to some other squadron or whatever it is you do when you dismiss recruits, but it’s either him or us.”

Caranraw passed a hand through his hair, surprised by such vehemence. “Come on, folks… I know you have never asked for anything or complained about your other teammates before, but I can’t just dismiss someone like that. There has to be a good reason. What is this supposed terrible character quality of his that gets to you all so much?”

They told him.

The next day Callous was out of the door with the order to go and present himself to captain Alderoux for reassignment.

“I don’t get it,” the Roegadyn wondered aloud, clutching his possessions to his chest, “I only said that I like pineapple on flatbread…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flatbread because Eorzea doesn’t have pizza (well, if we exclude Papa John’s Chocobo Chow and Heavensward Hawaiian) and yes, this was funnier in my head


	17. 22 - Argy-bargy

“What’s all this commotion? Here, make way!”

Teulzacq pushed through the throng at the Shaded Bower until he reached two arguing figures, surrounded by a gaggle of curious spectators. 

“Scoundrel!”

“Ignoramus!”

“Thief!”

“Cheapskate!”

As soon as he saw the skin colors of the two Elezen involved, he groaned inwardly: it was going to be one of those days. 

The Gridanian prejudice against the Elezen whose ancestors had refused the Pact of Gelmorra was still strong, and he had been victim to it on more than one occasion, but it had been a while since there had been accusations shouted out loud within the borders of the city.

Still, he was in uniform and on duty, so he couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t seen the scene.

“Hello, sirs. What seems to be the problem?”

“The problem, officer,” the Wildwood on his right huffed out loud, “is that this Duskwight here is outright trying to rob me, and- uh…”

Teulzacq smiled as the man finally saw beyond his Serpent uniform and noticed the deep grey color of his face. “I’m no officer, just a private. And what exactly are you accusing this man of stealing?”

“Nothing!” the other Duskwight said, exasperated, “I told him in advance that obtaining a signed portrait of the Homunculi would be expensive!”

“Yes, but I did not think to the sound of twenty thousand gil! I could buy a  _ house _ for that!”

“Oh please, for that pittance you could maybe rent a room at the Lily Hills. For a week.”

The pugilist blinked. “The… Homunculi? Signed portraits? What exactly are you talking about here?”

“My name is Soffent Jirieu,” the Wildwood said, patting his chest proudly, “and I am the number one fan of the travelling minstrel troupe that bears the name of the Homunculi!”

“Etoix,” the other man identified himself, “And not enough of a fan to spend some money on an original portrait of the band signed by the whole trio. A piece he commissioned, I should add!”

“Not for that price!”

“Very well!” Etoix said, raising the painting for everyone to see, “Should I just put it to auction on the marketplace, then?”

A number of parties who up to that point had just been lazily following the argument, turned their attention immediately to the frame in the Elezen’s arms. Jirieu balked, trying to wave them away.. “Absolutely not! That portrait is mine by right! But I’m not spending more than half that price.”

Etoix turned to Teulzacq, sighing. “See what I have to deal with? A man just can’t make an honest life peddling memorabilia to an adoring fan.”

“So, let me get this straight,” the pugilist pinched the bridge of his nose, “all this… this… argy-bargy is because you wanted a picture of some minstrels?” 

“ _The_ minstrels! Most famous in the Shroud!”

“Yeah, I don’t care. And does either of you have proof that one commissioned the other? That should put matters to a rest.”

“What for?” Soffent replied, “A man’s word should be as good as a contract. Of course, in the case of this Duskwight here, I should have known that he wouldn’t follow the rules of civilized society-”

“Oh, leave it to a Wildwood to accuse someone of robbing just because things aren’t going his way! Next you’ll be telling me it’s the will of the Elementals that-”

Teulzacq sighed. He was on more familiar territory now, however unpleasant. 

“Let me tell you what. Why don’t we bring this discussion to the Adder’s Nest? I’m sure commander Heuloix will be _thrilled_ to hear all the details…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most inspired thing I ever wrote, I'll admit


	18. 23 - Shuffle

“”You shuffle to the left, and then you shuffle to the right, making waves with your hands like this. Then you raise them to the sky and-”

“What,” Commander Heuloix’s voice had that resigned tone that crept in every time he talked to the Warrior of Light’s squadron, “exactly is happening here?”

Nanasomi gave a cheerful wave to the Serpent Commander. “Oh, so nice to see you, sir! Would you like to join us?”

“What I would like to know is why you’re all prancing half-naked in pareos and straw hats and practicing fairground dances in your barracks.”

The little archer raised a finger to tut-tut him. “Excuse me, sir, but these are no mere fairground steps! We need to learn the flame dance posthaste or the Moonfire Faire is at risk!”

The Elezen pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He was going to need the willow bark pills _again_. “I appreciate your commitment to providing entertainment, but just because Captain Greyhame gives you a lot of leeway, it doesn’t mean that-”

“Oh no, this is not for a show,” Hastaloeya chimed in, “it’s for the sharks!”

“Sharks.”

“Yes, the giant, bipedal supersharks that are attacking Costa del Sol! They’re threatening the whole event!” Nunulupa cried in worried excitement, “That’s why the Bombardiers are recruiting anyone who can help! We need to do our part for the celebrations… and also to prevent the whole area from being flattened to the ground.”

Vorsaile Heuloix had a decision to take in that moment. He could try and cling to things like logic and rationality, or he could just pretend that this was all a feverish dream that would fade in the light of morning.

Duty called for the former. His sense of self-preservation chose the latter. 

“All right. Explain it to me very slowly. How are you going to fight super...sharks with a dance?”

“Oh, not directly, sir. That would be _absurd_.”

“Of course it would.” Vorsaile repressed a barking laugh, and Kelmomo took pity on him. The man had allowed her to join the Adder despite her criminal past - a past that he was quietly pretending to ignore, since her alter ego had been officially declared dead some time before at the very hands of her squadron’s commanding officer.

“The Bombardiers have procured giant Bombards that respond to the movements of the dance as commands,” she explained, her voice so calm and even that whatever came out of her lips couldn’t sound but reasonable, “That way, a group of people can fend off the shark attacks without getting directly into the line of fire. The dance partners, however, must obviously be possessed of a great coordination in order for the manoeuvre to work.”

“In short,” Nunu concluded, “if we dance well together, we can save the faire!”

The commander twitched. “That is the greatest load of-”

“Hey folks,” Captain Greyhame popped his head in the barracks, “I hope you’re ready with that Flame Dance, because your turn at Costa del Sol starts- oh, Commander!” he snapped into a salute, “Sorry sir, I didn’t see you there.” 

Very slowly, Commander Heuloix turned to the Roegadyn. “Captain Greyhame. I assume that means that this… peculiar assignment has been authorized by yourself?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I know La Noscea is somewhat outside our usual jurisdiction, but since the Fair is enjoyed by people all over Eorzea-”

“Fine. Fine. Go on with your… tactical dance. But I do expect a detailed report when you’re done. I want some written proof that all of this has actually happened…”

“The Commander seemed more tired than usual,” Nanasomi told the Captain once the other man had left, “Maybe he needs a vacation.”

Caranraw nodded. “Hmm. I agree. Perhaps not at the seaside, though. And definitely no dancing involved…”

“On that note,” the archer turned back to the rest of the squadron, “let’s try this once again, from the top. You too, Captain! Get your pareo on and let me see those arms waving.”

“Aye aye, commander!” Caranraw laughed, and hurried behind a partition to change.

Nanasomi winked at Hastaloeya, who pretended not to see. “Don’t say I never do anything for you. Now, shuffle, shuffle, wave…”


	19. 24 - Beam

The magitek armor fired a beam of pure energy, blowing up a chunk of the hill right above their heads. The squadrons scattered in all directions to avoid the falling debris. 

A scream echoed on the battlefield as someone wasn’t quick enough to avoid a large rock. “My legs! My legs! Help-”

A barrage of bullets from another armor silenced the soldier a few moments later. 

Nanasomi and Cecily had found refuge behind a boulder - or was it rubble from a demolished building? It was hard to tell in the swirling, salty dust. The small archer was patting the conjurer’s hand, whispering soothing yet hurried words, trying to snap her out of the panic attack that had taken the other woman in her grip. 

“So this is all-out war,” Hastaloeya said, reaching for his comrades and kneeling with his shield in front of them. It wouldn’t offer much protection against energy beams or missiles, but any defense was better than none, “I can’t say that I care much for it.”

“The boss is up there fighting the emperor’s son, a man who can take on whole armies by himself,” Kelmomo popped up at his side, her greataxe dripping with Garlean blood and machine oil, “Certainly we can take care of a few soldiers in the meantime.”

Her tone was slightly uneven, some emotion creeping into it, and that scared Hastal and Nanasomi more than the din of battle and the roaring of the explosives. If Kelmomo was unsettled, then this truly was the end of the world. 

“Speaking of,” the roegadyn said, sweeping his gaze over what he could see of the battleground, “where are the others? I can’t see anything in this damn dust-”

As if to confirm his words, a Garlean soldier appeared as if out of nowhere, gunblade ready to shoot. Before they got a chance to strike, a powerful punch slammed them to the ground, and the next few strikes left them defenceless and broken-armed. 

“You were looking for me? I’m touched.” Teulzacq grinned and swept some dust off his coat, a gesture nullified a few seconds later as a new layer of fine debris from another explosion settled on the fabric. His carefree attitude, too, was betrayed by the trembling of his hands. 

“Have you seen the others? Nunu, Labonrit?”

The pugilist nodded. “Last I saw them, they were protecting a squadron of Immortal Flames as Gnawing tended to their wounds. If you’re all on your feet, we should move to rejoin them. We’re stronger in numbers.”

“Have you heard that, Cecily, hun? Do you think you can walk with us?” It would be better if she could run, Nanasomi thought, but right now she’d settle for the conjurer being alert and not rocking on the spot while breathing heavily. 

Cecily froze, apparently listening to some voice only she could hear, and the archer hoped it was some elemental or spirit of nature rather than her friend’s mind breaking down completely. After a moment, though, her breathing steadied and, slowly, she raised to her feet. “I’m fine. I’m fine. There’s people we have to help. I can break down later.”

“I admire your optimism,” Kelmomo said, actually raising her lips into a thin smile, “you think there’s going to be a ‘later’.”

A deafening roar pierced the sky, followed by a rush of wind that would have blown them off their feet if not for the protection offered by the boulder. When they reopened their eyes, the dust had been swept away and the blue skies of the Lochs stood clear and empty above them.

Empty, but for the gigantic dragon that towered over the city of Ala Mhigo.

“Oh hells, it’s Shinryu,” Hastal babbled, “Zenos has Shinryu. We’re dead. We’re all dead.”

“The boss is going to take care of it. I know he will,” Nanasomi said, though her quavering voice betrayed her words.

“Of course he will,” Kelmomo swung her axe on her shoulder, having now regained some of her usual composure, “but I figure it will end more quickly if we give him a hand. What do you say?”

They all took a sharp breath. Going against a Primal without the protection of the Mothercrystal was a possible death sentence, not only because of their immense strength, but for the very real threat of Tempering and losing their minds forever.

And yet… and yet… if this was to be their first and last war, they might as well go in a blaze of glory, helping the man that had brought them all together.

As one, they nodded. 

“Let’s go get our friends,” Teulzacq said, slamming his fists together, “then it’s straight to the palace, and the gods help whoever gets in our way.”

Hastaloeya raised his shield and started marching in front of his friends. Kelmomo swung her axe and took the rear. Nanasomi nocked an arrow on her bow. Cecily gripped her weathered cane, conjuring healing magic to wash away the worst of their wounds.

Steadily, working as one, they advanced against their enemies, toward their friends, and to the greatest battle of their lives. 


	20. 25 - Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direct sequel from the previous chapter (24 - Beam)

They never make it to the Royal Menagerie. Even if they had, the bridge to the final battlefield had been broken in the very first moments of the battle, making it completely impossible for anyone to reach the Captain and his allies.

What they do is reach their three companions, and, together with the Flames squadron they rescued, they defeat magitek armor and war machina and other assorted technological devilries that bar their way into the city. 

At one point, Kelmomo takes them off their path to help break a particular fight. Just as a Garlean centurion is about to strike a silver-haired Lalafell, she swipes in with her axe to cut them down at the knees. 

The other man turns, surprised at the sudden help, and she smirks. “You always left your back vulnerable, Tarupin.”

“Who- wait, I know that voice!” the Flame Marshal cries in surprise, “I thought you were dead!”

But swift as a ghost she’s already returned to the fray, and Pipin Tarupin’s questions at seeing one of his old opponents from the Coliseum return from the grave remain unanswered. 

They are halfway to the palace when a comet falls straight from the skies and onto its rooftop. 

Redoubling their efforts, they carve a path through the enemy ranks and reach the front steps just as the horn sounds, and the voice starts spreading that the dragon has been defeated - and Zenos yae Galvus alongside. 

A gaggle of important personalities emerge from a balcony on high and intone a solemn hymn of victory, raising the flag of Ala Mhigo over the palace. 

The Captain is among them. Despite the great distance, he seems to spot them among the crowd and his features shift in something like pride or relief, or a mix of both. 

And then the song ends, and the group moves away, and he’s gone.

Of course, the end of the fighting on the upper levels doesn’t mean that the war has ended on the ground. It’s several hours before the remaining Empirials finally surrender, and no more skirmishes flare up in the alleys. 

It is only then that they stop, bloodied, bruised, exhausted to the bone, huddled together in a restless sleep. 

~

They do not see Captain Greyhame until they are back in Gridania, at the Adder’s Nest. The Roegadyn seems surprised at their somber mood, and their lukewarm reception to the basket of goods he has prepared for the occasion. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to find you right after the fight, but there was just so much to do,” he tells them, “I searched for you all over the various campsites as soon as I was free, but they told me that you had left after the first night of celebration.”

“It’s Cecily,” Nanasomi half-whispers, “she doesn’t do well with fireworks. Not after, well, all that. And we weren’t in the mood to celebrate. So we asked permission to come home.”

The Captain grows immediately serious. “Somi… everyone… are you all right?”

Nanasomi makes to nod, reflexively, but it turns into a shake of the head halfway through. “No. No, we’re not. Half the squadron isn’t sleeping, and the other jumps at every loud noise, and Hastal hasn’t said a word since we came back, not even when someone asked the difference between local and Althyk lavender, and Gnawing gets sick at the sight of blood, and-”

Caranraw kneels and grabs her shoulders, gently. “Nanasomi. Nanasomi.  _ Private _ . Stop. It’s all right. I know what you’re going through.”

“Y- you do?” she stutters, rubbing away the tears from her eyes.

“But do you?” Hastaloeya’s voice joins in, harsher than they’ve ever heard, surprising everyone as he breaks his long silence, “what does the vaunted Warrior of Light know of fear? Of terror? Of whimpering at a loud whistle in case it’s another bomb? We were almost killed by a single armor while you were busy smiting a dragon _god_. We are not in the same league as the likes of you. We are not in the same _game_.”

The Captain doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then he sits down on the floor and calls them all to seat themselves near him. Some move reluctantly, but they comply. 

“What I’m about to tell you, only a few people know. Mostly because of, well, that sort of reaction,” he gestures towards Hastaloeya, “Most people don’t like to think that even the Warrior of Light can break down, so I try to downplay it as much as I can.”

“So, did you?” Nunulupa asks feebly, raising his eyes to meet the Captain’s, “Break down, I mean?”

“Oh, several times! After my first bout with Ifrit, I could not sleep for days. Leviathan is why I couldn’t even look at the sea for a whole month without being nauseous-” 

Someone takes a sharp breath at that; they all know how much the Captain loves the sea, despite his choice of joining the forces of the Twelveswood. “-and it was only after several weeks in the Azim Steppe that I stopped turning at every strong wind thinking that Garuda was at my back. Moving away from primals, banquets are still a sore point for me, and if the Sultana ever invites me for tea again, I don’t think my hands could stop shaking enough for me to hold the cup. Oh, and did I mention that I thought that most of my close friends were either dead or imprisoned and possibly tortured for several months? All the while I was knee deep in ice and snow, fighting someone else’s war? And then there’s the people who died right in front of me, people who threw themselves in the line of fire to save me, because they thought I was more important than them. People who died with a smile on their face, and to this day I keep asking myself if any of them would still be alive if I’d just been faster, smarter, stronger, if I’d been anywhere close to that image they had of me. So _yes_ , I’ve been there, and I know how it feels.”

Silence falls in the room, everyone working to digest that speech. 

Eventually Cecily breaks the spell. “So… do we ever get back to normal again? Just one night of fireworks was- every time there was a bang or a flash, I kept thinking it was a bomb, or a missile, or a grenade. I don’t think I could survive a whole Rising.”

Caranraw takes a deep breath before answering. “No. You don’t. You can’t ever return to how things were before. What you do is find a _new_ normal, a new balance. You shield yourself, you find coping mechanisms, you talk it out with people who understand. Sometimes magic or medicines help. Time heals some things, though not all. Mostly it muffles them. One day, if you’re lucky, you may still yelp at a firework, but it won’t feel like being in the thick of battle any more.”

Nanasomi shakes her head, unconvinced. “I hope… I just hope it was worth- did we even make a difference? We couldn’t even get to you in time for the last battle. Why were we even there?”

The Captain sighs at her outburst, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, truly. Perhaps I was wrong in thinking you were ready for the main lines. If I had kept you in the reserves-”

“Don’t you dare,” Kelmomo hisses, her fists shaking in her lap, “Don’t you dare finish that phrase. We are soldiers. We did our duty. There are people out there who are safe only because we were there. Don’t you dare try to say that everything would have been the same if we’d just sat in the back, don’t you dare say we didn’t need to be there, because- if all of this pain, all of this anguish, these hands that can’t stop shaking, if all of that has really been for nothing then I think I am just gonna _snap_.“ 

The last word is so angry and loud to make the whole group wince. The marauder’s face turns regretful, and she finishes with a whisper. “We saved people.”

“But did we? Did we really?” Gnawing Goat asks, uncertain. 

As a way of reply, Teulzacq punches him in the arm. “You sure did! Half of those Flames we rescued would have come home in a coffin without your healing magic. And you and Cecily kept us all alive in combat several times over.”

The Roegadyn conjurer blushes. “I was only able to do that because Nunu and Labonrit kept the enemy soldiers away. I never broke my focus once.”

“That’s nothing,” Nunulupa says, waving his hand in mock modesty, “Kelmomo here has saved _royalty_ \- or close to it! Want to tell the Captain of how you single-handedly rescued Marshal Tarupin from the hands of death?”

Caranraw grins, raising his brows in question. “Oh-ho! And how did he take it? Did he recognize you without your mask?”

The marauder’s fists unclenched, and her lips made that thing they knew to be her smile. “I didn’t stay long enough for him to make certain. Let him think me a ghost or a wisp. A woman needs to have her secrets.”

They talk of the war some more, and then they break into the Captain’s gift basket, because returning to the battlefield, even if only in the mind’s eye, is hungry and thirsty work. If any passersby look at them and think it’s weird to have a picnic on the floor of the barracks, well, they’re the Warrior of Light’s squadron: everyone already thinks they’re weird. 

By the end of the day they are all - not healed, for that will take months or more, but there is a bit more spring in their step, a little more flush to their cheeks, a warmth in their voices. 

All but Hastaloeya, who waits until the Captain is about to take his leave before asking, “Captain? Can I talk to you in private?”

“Hmm? Of course. What is it?”

They retreat to a quiet spot outside the Adder’s Nest, the half moon shining high above them. Now that they’re alone, Hastal finds it hard to compose his thoughts, so he starts with the easy part. “I’m sorry for what I said before. I was… angry. Not at you in particular. At the Garleans. At the war. At the whole star, I think. It was still out of turn.”

Caranraw shakes his head. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it. War takes a bite out of us, and the first one is… I won’t say the hardest, but certainly the one we’re least equipped to cope with.”

Hastal nods, wrapping his arms about himself. He knows that now. And still… 

“I… It might seem like a non-sequitur, but I wanted to ask you something. I know why _I_ wanted to join your squadron, but why did _you_ recruit me, out of all the applicants that day? Did you see something in me, or was it just…” A random choice? A whim? Or because he was easy on the eyes?

“Is this about the witch?”

The question is unexpected, and makes him raise his eyes back to the Captain. “What? How do you-”

The Captain grins. “It may seem that I forget about you lot for weeks at a time, but I _do_ keep an eye. And if you say things to Nanasomi, eventually they make their way back to me. It’s just the way of things.”

The gladiator smiles. “That does not surprise me. She’s basically your second in command by now.”

“Mhh. The only reason she’s not a leader is because she doesn’t believe she can be one… yet. I’m working on it,” the Captain says, returning the smile, “Just like someone else I see right in front of me.”

Hastal blinks, just to make sure he had heard right. “Pardon?”

“Either of you could lead this squadron once I’m gone. Hells, I’m pretty sure you’ll make it to Marshal or Commander in due time, if you keep at it. You’re both great with people, you’re honest, and you’re not afraid to doubt yourself - after the fact. Those are all good qualities in a commanding officer.”

“Sir-”

“Let me finish. When I heard about your witch, I did wonder, briefly, if I had made the wrong choice. If you had only joined this squadron because someone else told you to. So I decided to pay her a visit.” Hastal pales, and Caranraw’s smile widens almost from ear to ear. “She wasn’t as accommodating to me as she was to you, I’m afraid to say. Apparently she thought I was too much of a big boy to have my futures read. But we talked about you, and I learned the truth of it. She simply showed you that this road was available. You were the one who decided to walk it, every step of it, even when it was hard. And if you first joined because of me, well, do you truly think you were the only one? Half the applicants just wanted to bask in the reflection of my supposed glory. But you didn’t just want to serve under a hero, or brag of doing so. You wanted to be a hero yourself. So,” he ends his speech, “my question to you now is: after having seen war, death, the harsh, ugly, painful side of it… is this still what you want to do?”

It should be an easy question, Hastal thinks. The answer is right there on his lips. Then why do the words feel like lead, heavy and slow in his mouth? Is it because of the commitment they imply? Because they still feel childish, even after all this time, even if he knows that the Captain will understand? 

But the Warrior is waiting for an answer, so he takes a deep breath and nods. “I do. More than anything else in my life. I want to be…”

_ I want to be you. _

No, that was the old him. The young boy who ran to chase a crush, who followed a man who made his heart aflutter with dreams. 

That boy still lived in his heart, but he also had, in his way, matured.

“…I used to wish to be a man you could be proud of. But you have shown me what courage truly is. Not slaying fearsome enemies, or rushing headless into danger, or performing heroic feats, but in getting up again after you’ve been hurt, and helping your comrades alongside. So now… now I want to be proud of myself, _for_ myself.”

Caranraw crosses his arms and looks at him with a curious smile, and it surprises him that he isn’t afraid of his voice giving out any more, like he was whenever he talked to the Captain in the early days, flustered with worship and admiration. He goes on. “The squadron… I know we won’t always be together. Some will leave, some will be reassigned, some will… perhaps some will even retire. But right now they are still my people, and I need them like they need me. So I will take care of them just like you would do. I mean,” he grins, and it almost hurts to smile that much after the last week, “I assume that you’re going to get lost in another world next, or something just as unlikely and improbable, so we’d better learn to fend for ourselves without hanging to your coattails all the time, won’t we? Captain,” he reminds himself to add.

And then Caranraw laughs, and reaches out in a gesture that Hastaloeya is half sure was meant to be a ruffling of his hair, but turns halfway through into a few pats and a squeeze of his shoulder. “If that happens, just know that I’m going to blame you for it. Still, that’s a good answer, and a good step forward from when you started… Corporal.”

Hastal blinks, unconsciously standing a little straighter. “Sir?”

“When we’re done here, go and tell Corporal Nanasomi that I expect to see you tomorrow morning for your new assignments. We need to implement a mental health regimen for the squadron, and there’s still a lot of work to do both in the Shroud and Gyr Abania, and I want you two to take care of the assignments, and the schedule, and be in touch with Serpent Command whenever I’m not available. Oh, and of course we’ll need to make your promotions official… that is, if you think you can do the job, soldier.”

Hastaloyea gulps, then snaps to attention and salutes. “Sir yes sir! I won’t let you down, Captain.”

Caranraw returns the salute, smiling like a man with a secret. “I’m going to tell you something, Hastal,” he says, the tone taking the confidentiality of a friend talking to a friend, not commander to subordinate, “Underneath all this, the titles, the hero mask… I’m just a person. Like you, like Somi, like everyone. I do what I can, and sometimes it works, and sometimes I fail. I’m not perfect, and I don’t expect you to be either… not on the first attempt at least,” he winks, “Just keep trying to do your best, and you will never let me down.”

“And if I let _me_ down?”

“Then find yourself a few friends to remind you of your limits, and that, as long as you have breath, you can always pick yourself up and try again.”

“I have a few of those, luckily”, Hastal smiles, “about seven or so.”

“Hmm. How about making it a round eight?”

“Captain?”

“You can call me Caran… at least when Commander Heuloix is not around,” Caranraw grins and winks again, then turns and starts making his way to the Aetheryte, “First lights tomorrow, in full uniform. I suggest you get some sleep.”

“How am I supposed to fall asleep now?” Hastaloeya mutters to himself, watching the receding figure of his captain - his friend - whistling a little far eastern tune. 

The problem with having a wish is that you might get it, his father used to say, and it was true. He wanted to fight alongside his hero, and he did, and it was horrible, and frightening, and it scarred his soul forever. But it also gave him strength, and hope, and comrades he could always rely on. And now there was something new… 

“Ah well,” he says to the moon, walking back to the barracks, “I suppose I should go give Nanasomi the news. Gods, the others are going to be insufferable about it…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're asking yourself "Wait, what witch?" then you'll just have to wait for Sunday, when I'm going to post a make-up chapter with Hastaloeya's background story. If you're reading this story in the future, just go back to prompt number 10!


	21. 26 - When Pigs Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only had 40 minutes to write this so it’s a super quick one

“Look, flutterina, I don’t know what sort of scam you’re trying to sell here, but-”

“Rude! Rude! Such a rude, ill-mannered ox! I wonder why our precious sapling spends any time at all worrying about _you_ ,” the orange-haired pixie growled angrily, flying around Hastaloeya’s head. He tried to swat them away, though with little success, for they were much faster than he was and wise to many fairy tricks. “And my name is _Feo Ul_ , not flutterina. You’d better keep it to mind if you want me to keep bringing you news of your lovely Caranraw.”

The gladiator scoffed. “It’s hard enough to believe that the Captain is on a different world altogether, but that he also made a pact with a faerie creature, and is letting them carry instructions to our squadron? Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when pigs fly.”

Feo Ul laughed through a pirouette. “But of course pigs do fly, you silly! Or do porxies not exist in this world? Oh, if only I could bring one over, it would be so delightful to see one of those pink, fluffy creatures hovering round your head! But no matter,” they grinned, “my sapling knew you would have a hard time believing me, so he entrusted me with a message for your ears only. Please excuse me a second as I work on my impersonation…” 

Feo Ul cleared their throat a few times and then, perfectly replicating Captain Caranraw’s voice, they hovered close to Hastal’s ear and whispered.

“…and here are our new assignments for the month. Let me have these month’s reports by the end of the week and Feo Ul will make sure that they reach the Captain’s hands. I assume we can expect his usual six weeks delay or more, given that he’s busy saving the world _again_ , but you know how he is. He likes to show that he’s trying.”

Labonrit raised his hand to interrupt. “Not that I want to doubt you, Corporal, but are we absolutely sure that we can trust this… pixie, and they’re not just trying to steal intelligence, or playing some elaborate prank on us?”

Hastal sighed, flushing slightly with embarrassment. “Oh, the Captain sent them, there’s no doubt of that.”

“Can I ask what makes you so sure-”

“No,” he slammed his gloved hands together, signalling that the meeting had ended, “Just get me those reports as soon as possible, please.”

After the others had left, Corporal Nanasomi elbowed him in the shins with a knowing grin. “Oh, I bet I know exactly what they said to convince you.”

“Soni…”

“Was it as sweet as you expected? Or did he say it in his bumbling way? Caranraw and Hastal, sitting in a tree-”

“He said that he blames me for it.”

The lalafell stopped mid dance, blinking. “Sorry, what?”

“After Ala Mhigo, the night he promoted us, I joked that he was going to get stuck on another world next. He said that, if it happened, he would blame me for it. So… that was his message. ‘I blame you for it, and I should demote you on the spot.’ And Feo Ul said it in his voice, too.”

To her credit, Nanasomi resisted all of three seconds before bursting out laughing. 


	22. 28 - Irenic

The air hung heavy in the Ghimlyt Dark, oppressive as the constant dark of the never-changing sky. Booms shook the ground, echoing in the distance, and Cecily cursed. “I had just gotten used to the fireworks,” the conjurer hissed, gripping her cane, “and now we’re back in the thick of it again. Splendid. Just splendid.”

Nanasomi patted her hand gently. “I get you. But there’s not much point to us having freed Ala Mhigo if the Empire just comes and takes it back a few months later, isn’t it? And this time they won’t stop there.”

“If you’re going to say that we’re fighting here to defend the peace in Eorzea or something sappy like that, I’m out.” 

Somi scowled at Kelmomo’s words, though she knew they were just the marauder’s way of exorcising her pre-battle anxiety. Of them all, she’d been the one who had seen most skirmishes before, and the most cruel, and her stoic behavior punctuated by bouts of scorn was her way of coping with- well, everything.

“Well, we are!” she said, shaking her fists in emphasys, “Half the forces of Gridania are here, and all the other Grand Companies, and the Scions, and-”

“Indeed,” a familiar, deep voice joined in, “it seems that nothing brings people together like a common enemy at the door. Very irenic. And ironic.”

Cecily rubbed her temples, while Nanasomi just sighed. “Boss. I thought we’d agreed to leave the puns at the door.”

“Well, good thing we’re in the open air, then, Corporal. Not that it looks that way, what with this soot-dark sky…”

“You’re feeling very poetic today, Captain. I take it this meeting of armies from all over the star gave you an opportunity to meet with your Doman boy?” Not a muscle moved on Kelmomo’s lips, but they all could hear the smug mirth behind the words nonetheless. 

Caranraw lowered his hat over his eyes, which was as much as an admission despite his words. “I told you, he’s-”

“Yes, yes, a stable boy. And doesn’t their army have horses?”

“A-hem,” he cleared his throat, “nevermind any of that. Are you three ready to head out?”

Nanasomi cocked her head. “Just the three of us? I thought Labonrit was joining us.”

“Change of plans. Hastal’s team has a new mission and they’ll have need of an arcanist, so you’re going out with me today.”

“Joy of joys,” the sarcasm dripping from Cecily’ voice was almost as palpable as the air, “So, are we going to open the dances? Should we expect them to pit the strongest machines they have against the four of us? Likely followed by the brunt of their infantry? I just want to get an idea of what I’m going to have to heal you through.”

Caranraw scowled. He wasn’t sure that he liked this new, acerbic side of their conjurer, though it was still an improvement of sorts over her previous panic attacks at any loud noise. “That’s about it, yes. Oh, and don’t forget the artillery. You can bet any cannon from here to Ilsabard will be firmly trained on us, so be ready to dodge.”

The Hyuran woman wavered only a moment, before redoubling her grip on her cane and steeling her gaze forward. “Well then. If the only way to return to our previous, simple lives of dungeoneering and slaying brigands and dragons is to win this war, then we’ll win this war. Let’s go bring the Garleans some peace. On the sharp end of my stick.”

The others took a step back at the unexpected vehemence, but after a moment Nanasomi broke the silence with a laugh. “That’s the spirit! We kick ass and we get home for dinner! Who’s with me?”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one calling the shots here!”

“Then come up with a better war cry, Boss!”

“You know what,” the Captain joined in the laugh, “I don’t think I can.”


	23. 29 - Paternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cutting it close on the finish line here but I did it!

“So, this is Gridania…”

“Haven’t you been here before?”

G’raha Tia made to shake his head, then hesitated. “I… am not sure. I don’t think so, or maybe only in passage. I know I’ve been through the Shroud - we met there, after a fashion - but the rest of my young memories are still a bit fuzzy.”

Caranraw chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Well, it has been three hundred years and something. I can forgive a little memory lapse to an old man.”

G’raha grunted, elbowing his friend in the side. “You-”

“Boss!” a young voice called at their backs, “sorry for bothering you, but the Commander would like a word with you. Like, right now.”

Caranraw sighed in resignation, his shoulders slumping. “Less than five minutes since I crossed the gates. That must be some new record.” Recovering his composure a little, he turned to address the messenger, a Roegadyn with pale greenish skin and a shock of hazel hair. “You know, Hastal, you’re a Corporal now. You shouldn’t be spending time being Heuloix’s errand boy.”

G’raha covered a laugh with his hand, making Caranraw frown. “Pray tell, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just weird to hear those words from the man who is basically the errand boy of two worlds.”

Caranraw scowled even more, but was interrupted by the Corporal’s discreet cough. “Captain…”

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” Caran sighed, “and you’re dismissed. Actually, wait. Are you busy right now?”

“Not at this precise moment, but-.”

“Excellent!” Caranraw cut him short, taking his hand and G’raha’s and shaking them together. “Hastaloeya, this is my friend G’raha Tia. G’raha, Hastal. Be a dear and show him around town until I come back, will you? Thank you! Bye now!”

Before the two could recover, Caranraw was already sprinting toward the Adder’s Nest, leaving them alone by the Carline Canopy.

And still gripping each other’s hand. 

G’raha smiled, wondering how long it would take the young man to notice their situation, and was not disappointed when, a moment later, Hastaloeya blushed and dropped his hand, jumping almost a fulm away. “Ah. Sorry, sir! It’s just that the Captain can be…”

“Exuberant? Overbeariing? Fretful?”

“That’s one way to put it, yes,” the young man lowered his gaze, scratching a spot at the base of his neck, “although… he does make life interesting.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” G’raha cocked his head, watching the Corporal’s face, and the pink flushing that didn’t seem to want to leave his cheeks. He wondered idly if there was more to it than just the embarrassment of holding a stranger’s hand. “Although, occasionally, I wish he’d coddle me a little less. Sometimes he makes me feel like I’m a little kid, despite that I’m a few times Caranraw’s age now.”

“He just wants to protect everyone. Especially his friends,” Hastaloeya shrugged, as if to say that there was no more chance of changing that side of Caranraw than making the whole world spin the other way round, “Wait, did you say several times his age? You don’t really look-”

“I said _a few_ times his age, thank you very much. I’m old, but not that old,” G’raha chuckled, “And I know that I look younger than my years. It’s complicated.”

He gave Hastaloeya a gentle pat on the shoulder, along with a reassuring smile. “I don’t actually need an escort through the city, by the way. I may be an old man, but I think I can find my way back on my own.”

“I do have things I should be getting back to…” Hastaloeya considered the proposition for a moment, “but the Boss would likely give me latrine duties from here to eternity if I abandoned you without at least giving you a few pointers. So, uh, is there anything you’d like to see first?

G’raha thought for a moment. “I don’t really know this place at all. So, if you were a visitor here, where would you start?”

“As a matter of fact, I was a visitor once. I’m originally from La Noscea.”

“Oh, and what brought you here? No, let me guess.” G’raha smiled as Hastaloeya blushed and rubbed his head again, though with time with a knowing grin. 

“Yes, I only came here to join the Warrior of Light’s squadron. Since you’re his friend, can you really blame me for it?”

G’raha’s features softened at that. _Oh, if only you knew the lengths I went through to be at his side…_. “No, not at all. Now, we were talking about tourist spots?”

In the end, he ended up being escorted by Hastaloeya through Gridania after all. 

They visited the Canopy, where G’raha was introduced to Mother Miounne. They went to the Shaded Bower next, then, in a sort of circle, to the Centaur’s eye, the beautiful sights of Apkallu Falls, and the Whistling Miller, ending at Mih Khetto’s Amphitheatre.

The youth was tense at first, but he relaxed as he saw that G’raha wasn’t big on formality, and most of all didn’t absolutely want to be called ‘sir’. 

“I have been called only by a title for close to a hundred years,” he said as way of explanation, “so I would very much prefer for people to use my real name now. G’raha is just fine.”

“Very well, si- _G’raha_ ,” Hastaloeya corrected himself, “In that case, feel free to call me Hastal. All my friends do, including the Boss.”

“Gladly. So, is this the end of our tour?

“There’s a few places left to see, but they’re mainly guildhouses, so I’m not sure if you would be interested. And oh, there’s my favorite spot, where you can see all the city from up high. It requires a bit of climbing, though, so if you’re not up for it-”

G’raha grinned wickedly. “Climbing, you say? How about we make it a competition?”

Hastaloeya collapsed at the top of the rock, panting heavily. “How-”

“I am more than just a scholar, my friend!” G’raha laughed from the spot where he had been sitting for a couple of minutes now, arms locked behind his head, “I am also a miqo’te, and a particularly acrobatic one at that. You should ask your Captain about the first time we met.”

“I will. When I get my breath back.” Hastal collapsed next to G’raha, then grinned despite the ache, “I’m sure he was suitably impressed by your skills, though.”

“Hmm. Annoyed, more than anything. He wasn’t yet the cuddly hug machine that he is today, and I sort of toyed with him while we were both looking for some important materials for… well, that’s a long story for another time, and he can tell it better than I, since he was actually there for its ending.”

The two remained in silence for a while, looking at the city from above, the hustle and bustle of daily life, people trading, crafting, mending, training. 

“How is it,” G’raha asked after a while, “working for the Warrior of Light? As a soldier, I mean?”

“It’s very…” Hastal pondered his words. “…hands off,” he ended awkwardly. 

“Really?” The answer surprised G’raha, “After everything we said about his paternal attitudes, I thought he’d be doting over his squad, watching your every step.”

“Don’t get me wrong. He’s a force of nature when he’s around, whipping us into shape, or dragging us into the craziest adventures, down into dungeons or jungles or anywhere we’re needed. But most of the time he’s away with the Scions, dealing with things much bigger than us, or off who knows where, doing who knows what. We deal with his absence best we could, carry on as if he were there, but it’s obvious that everyone thinks of us as a queer squadron, more of a band of unruly adventurers than a military unit.”

“Hmm. I’m afraid I was responsible for his latest prolonged absence, so for that I apologise,” G’raha said, “We’re both back for good now… until the next crisis, at least.” 

Hastal cocked his head, staring at him as the clues finally locked in place. “Wait. The incongruous age, the title, the absence… you’re the Crystal Exarch!”

“Shh! Not so loud!” G’raha signed to lower his volume, looking around as if there were anyone else atop the rock with them, “I’m not the Exarch any more - not here in the Source, at least. I’m just G’raha. ”

“But… why?” Hastal leaned forward, gesturing, “You’re a hero! A hero of two worlds! The whole star should know about you and what you did.”

“It’s funny. He said the same thing,” G’raha smiled, “so I’m going to give you the same answer: that other man, the person who was one with the Tower, he was the Crystal Exarch of the first, and there he should remain. I have his memories, but I do not have his powers, nor his body - no, don’t make that face, this is my real body, just my old one instead of… well, the _really_ old one.”

Hastal nodded, slowly, though squinting at G’raha who couldn’t help but laugh.

“Anyway, the Exarch has already been lauded for far too long. I want to make a new name for myself here, starting from scratch. I don’t want to be a leader or a paragon. I just want to be a Scion, and one of the Warrior’s companions.”

G’raha raised his eyes to the sky, and Hastal followed. “Yeah. I get that. I would give anything to be at his side all the time.”

“I would have given anything for a single adventure with him. I did, sort of.”

“But he doesn’t return what we feel, right? Not in the same way.”

“No. He’s our friend, our comrade, and he’s proud of us. But he’s not-”

Their gazes turned to each other. Slowly, almost unconsciously, their hands joined again, their fingers laced together.

“He’s taking his sweet time talking to the Commander.”

“Indeed. I thought he’d have freed himself several hours ago.”

“Or sent us a message.”

“You don’t think…”

“Oh, he’s _sneaky_. He’s a sneaky bastard. You can tell him I used those exact words”

“We can tell him together. In a while.”

They laughed, and huddled a little closer, and stared at the city until the sun set.


	24. 30 - Splinter

“Ouch!”

Caranraw turned to Nanasomi, brows raised. “What’s the matter?”

The Lalafell archer shook her head, sucking on her right index finger for a few moments before replying. “Nothing. Splinter. I guess that Ixal blade did chip through the lacquer after all.”

The Captain set down his bow and the oiled rag he was using to clean it, and gestured at Somi to hand him her own. “Let me see.”

She handed the bow to him, keeping her eyes fixed on it in worry as Caranraw examined the weapon for damage. “Damn. It’s hard to see through the finish, but that looks like a bad crack. It’s a miracle it didn’t snap in your hands during that battle.”

“Oh no!” she cried, jumping up from the bench, “But it can be repaired, right? Tell me that it can be repaired!”

Caranraw grimaced. “I’m not sure. I should ask Guildmaster Beatin for advice. It is a pretty old bow anyway, however well maintained. It would probably be easier to just make you a new one in the same fashion.”

“But, but, but,” Nanasomi knew she was whining, but didn’t care much about it at the moment, “it’s the Gyr Abanian bow that Ayberk gave me! I can’t just throw it away without trying to fix it!”

“Somi, I have an armoire full of bows I never use except for glamours or nostalgia. We’re not throwing it away, but it may have to become… ceremonial. Not for field use,” he turned the bow around in his hands, “Anyway, it’s no use frettin’ before Beatin has taken a look at it. He may yet say that all it needs is some high quality dark matter.”

She pouted, but sat back on the bench, dangling her legs absentmindedly. “I suppose I can go back to the bow I used as a recruit, in the meantime. It’s not as good, but it does the job well enough.”

Caranraw put her bow down and returned to cleaning and taking care of his own. Unlike Nanasomi’s slick and simple black willow bow, his own was an elaborate design with large, blue crystal shards at its ends.  _ Bluespirit _ , he had called it, saying it was a popular high-end design in the First. At times she wondered how he could loose an arrow without poking himself in the eye.

“You could borrow one of mine. I have a Yanxian bow which should be the same size, more or less. Or I could make you a new one. It’s good to have a backup anyway.”

Nanasomi smiled and patted Caranraw’s thigh. “You just have to fix everything, don’t you, boss? I’ll be fine. Or I could just buy one with our company seals.”

“Yes, but,” he almost pouted, “now I _want_ to make you one. Do you know how long it has been since I crafted something for the fun of it and not because someone asked me to, on the double?”

“No, but I can take a gander. Fine. Craft me a bow. Nothing I can say would stop you from making one anyway.” She chuckled, leaning on the table and staring at Caranraw. The Captain had wholly focused again on his bow, rubbing the bow in oil like his life depended on it.

“So,” she said eventually, “Hastaloeya and G’raha Tia are off on some other adventure.”

“Hmm? Yes, he asked me for some time off last week. I’m not sure if working with a Scion actually counts as vacation, but-”

“Yes, working,” she snorted, a sly smile on her lips, “Sitting in trees, more likely. That was a really slick move, by the way, setting them up like that.”

Caranraw stopped his work, turning to Nanasomi. “…is there some context that I’m missing here?”

She gaped. “You mean… you don’t know? It was not your doing?”

“It was not my doing _what_?”

She almost fell down laughing. “Twelve above, I can’t believe it. There they are, thinking you’re some kind of mastermind, and you have no idea at all! Just wait until I tell them!”

“Corporal, you’re not making any sense and I’m starting to get annoyed.”

Nanasomi pulled herself back on the bench, wheezing. “Captain. Caran. They’re _together_. And they think it’s _your_ doing, when you asked Hastal to be G’raha Tia’s tour guide and then left them alone all day.”

Realization dawned on Caranraw’s face. “Oh. So that’s why they’re both so upbeat lately. And they think it was me?”

She nodded. “So you didn’t leave them alone on purpose?”

“No. I left them alone because Heuloix sent me on some errand for the Moogles and I ended up in Dravania and I forgot to call them on my linkpearl. I tried to apologise once I got back, but they kept saying it was no big deal.” The big man shook his head and laughed, “Well, I suppose that’s two birds with one stone, then.” 

Nanasomi cocked her head, and he huffed. “Come on. You know the way he looked at me.”

“Uh-huh. I know the way you looked at _him_ too, boss.”

He shrugged. “He’s nice to look at, I won’t deny that. But he’s also my subordinate, and he joined the team with a terrible case of hero complex. While I may be known to flirt with any cute man in the surroundings, I wasn’t going to take advantage of that because it would be yucky and cruel and unfair to him - and did I say yucky?”

“Look at you, being all so honorable. But did you say _two_ birds?”

“I did? Did I?” Caranraw suddenly looked shifty, “Oh my, is that the time? I’d better get to the Carpenters’ Guild-”

“No. Way.” Nanasomi laughed again, “The Exarch, too? Do you have some kind of love spell on you? Is it pheromones? Are we Lalafell immune because, no offense, boss, but you’re not really my type. You’re five fulms too tall, for starters, and a nice bow isn’t going to change my mind.” 

“Have you considered,” he pouted, “that maybe it’s because of my good looks and charming personality?”

The pout intensified when she didn’t stop laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, last day of the challenge. Though I might return to add a missing prompt or two, I'm calling it done for now.


End file.
